


Lost for Words

by IMelopsittacus



Category: Lost
Genre: Amnesia, Beating, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Brain Damage, Canon-Typical Violence, Fear, Gen, Hurt, Injury Recovery, Interrogation, Memory Loss, My First AO3 Post, My First Fanfic, POV First Person, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Seizures, Torture, Whump, canon divergence in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-03-20 12:44:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 26,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13717950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMelopsittacus/pseuds/IMelopsittacus
Summary: What if Ben lost his memories in The Hatch? This story explores an alternative outcome of Sayid’s actions in The Hatch.





	1. I Always Have a Plan

**Author's Note:**

> After watching LOST, I was struck with the idea of 'what if...' What if Sayid kicked Ben’s ~~ass~~  , I mean head, so hard that the poor bastard suffered some sort of head-trauma. What if he knocked Ben’s memories right out of his skull? Seeing as how often people smacked Ben around, I’m still surprised he survived the show without any obvious brain damage.  
> I put [my musings](https://imelopsittacus.tumblr.com/post/159892950934/so-what-if-henry-lost-consciousness-after-this) on Tumblr, and [Rumpykamon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10721193) went with it. Thanks again for that! 
> 
> However, the idea had lodged itself deep in my brain and refused to leave. No matter how hard I tried to turn my mind to other things, Benjamin Linus made himself at home in my heart and mind. I think we all know how persistent he is and how persuasive he can be. 
> 
> This is my trying to get rid of the guy by telling his side of the story. Feel free to let me know what you think, but please be kind. After all, this is the first story I’ve ever written. And I never would’ve even considered writing one, but here we are. All because that little bug-eyed bastard wouldn’t leave me alone.
> 
> And a heartfelt 'Thank You!' to my friends over at Discord for convincing me to actually post this, I know I wouldn't have otherwise.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story starts at the episode 2x14 One of Them, when we meet Henry Gale for the first time. It will be following the show for a while, until certain events change things drastically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, since these are my first words in fic writing, please forgive me my mistakes. I probably will reread and rewrite some things that I'm not happy about in the future, but in the meantime, enjoy this first attempt in story telling.

A faint rustling and a disturbed bird calling out, wake me up. I have no idea how I managed to sleep even for a moment. My back and limbs are painfully cramped from being confined for so long.

In the soft light of dawn, a shadow is slowly approaching. Finally, I recognise the figure when she steps in the clearing. Tall, slender appearance. Long, wild hair and piercing blue eyes that take in the scene before her. With that rifle in her hands, she looks more feral than ever. I haven't seen Danielle Rousseau in a very long time, and I'm startled to see how my daughterhas grown up looking so muchlike her.

I try to get her attention, "Help me, please, help me!"

She carefully inspects the net and her surroundings before glancing up at me. There's no recognition in her eyes, and I wonder if she even remembers me. I don't think so; it happened years ago and it was very dark at the time. Looking at her now, I know I made the right decision that night.

She doesn't respond to my pleas, and after making sure the net is still securely suspended, she disappears into the jungle without a word.

With a deep sigh, I try to find a more comfortable position in the net. This wasn't exactly part of my plan, but one has to adapt to changing circumstances. A wrong move leaves me gasping when pain shoots through my back. With a grunt I shift again and the pain recedes. I can only hope Rousseau comes back for me any time soon.

//\oOOo/\\\

My patience is rewarded a few hours later when I hear voices and more rustling from where Rousseau left. It's time to play my part again.

"Help me!" I shout at the top of my lungs, "Hey, over here!"

The voices and rustling come closer.

"Help!"

A man appears from the jungle, followed by Rousseau. He has shoulder-length dark, curly hair. Like Rousseau, he's wearing a tank top and cargo pants. He's carrying Rousseau's rifle, scanning the clearing as he approaches.

I slightly shift my position in the net to see them more clearly. Reaching through the net, I start waving frantically to attract their attention. "Hey! Hey! Over here! Please, help me!"

The man quickly jogs over to where I'm swinging in the net, closely followed by Rousseau. He takes in the scene and looks up at me curiously. I stare back at him, wide-eyed, imploring. I recognise him from our files; Sayid Jarrah. He's one of the survivors I'm looking for.

"Help me!" I look at him as pleadingly as I can. The pain in my back has flared up, and I can't help begging. I need to get out of this net.

Rousseau keeps her distance, but not her tongue, as she warns Jarrah of my being dangerous. "Don't believe a word he says." He stares at her, confused.

"Hey!" I try to get his attention back, but he ignores me and Rousseau adds, "He's one of them."

Jarrah looks at me uncertainly. I look at him pleadingly. "I have no idea what she's talking about," my voice wavers. "She's crazy!"

Jarrah glares at Rousseau. "How long has he been up here?"

Pain give my voice a sharp edge. "Since last night." I glare at Rousseau.

I look back down at Jarrah. "Please, just cut me down. My name is Henry Gale. I'm from Minnesota."

He scrutinizes me, clearly still having doubts about me, still trying to decide if I'm lying.

"Please!"

"He's lying," Rousseau insists.

Finally, having made a decision, Jarrah walks over to the rope attached to a nearby tree. "I'm going to cut him down." He pulls out a large hunting-knife and starts cutting into the rope.

"Don't!"

Relief floods me and I give Jarrah a grateful look. "Thank you."

I hear Rousseau in the background, still trying to convince Jarrah not to let me go. "You're making a serious mistake." I'm glad he ignores her.

Jarrah keeps cutting into the rope until it snaps, and the net and I drop to the ground. It's quite a fall, and I nearly cry out as pain shoots through my lower back when I land inelegantly in a jumbled mess of rope and man. I try not to panic while frantically trying to wrestle myself free from the net.

"It's okay, it's okay. You're all right. You're all right. Hold on. Take it easy." Jarrah rushes to help me.

While he helps untangle myself and get me out of the net, I see something move in the corner of my eye. I gasp, eyes widening in surprise. "No!"

Rousseau is holding an actual crossbow. No, _loading_ an actual crossbow. With a rusty, improvised bolt. Pointing at me. I have absolutely no desire to find out is she's going to use it on me, and as soon as I'm out of the net, I scramble to my feet and make a run for it.

Being confined to a very small space for a very long time—and a subsequent, painful fall—isn't helping anything. My movements are uncoordinated and I stumble my way through the clearing.

Behind me Jarrah shouts something, "Wait!"

Followed by, "Danielle, don't!"

I don't turn around to see what's happening, but I can guess. I can only hope to reach the edge of the clearing before Rousseau can take the shot.

Something punches my shoulder hard enough to shove me off balance. A grunt escapes me, as pain—and a rusty crossbow-bolt—lances through me. It feels like someone ran me through with a hot poker. I lose my footing, knees buckling, and I fall face-first on the ground.

Pain overwhelms me and I lose consciousness.

 


	2. So far, so not so good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry's arrival in the Hatch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far, so canon-compliant. Please let me know if I need to tag something I missed.

A flash of pain brings me almost to the surface. I squint open my eyes, blinking at the bright light. A few unfocused glances, the ground gliding past me. Strong arms and hands hold me securely in a fireman's grip. Pain overwhelms me when I'm jostled in a different position, and I black out again. 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

 

 _Floating_  

 

 _R_ _ocking gently_  

 

 _Falling_  

 

 _Unexpected jolt_  

 

 _Pain_  

 

 _Cool, smooth surface beneath me_  

 

 _Hands propping me up_  

 

 _Closed space, no jungle sounds_  

 

 _Smells stale, like old sweat_  

 

 _Footsteps_ _leaving, more_ _approaching_  

 

Slowly my mind catches up with the situation. I'm here. 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

They have me propped up against some sort of bench, hands and feet tightly bound with rope. A quick glance at my shoulder confirms my fear. The crossbow-bolt is still solidly lodged through my shoulder. With a deep sigh, I lean my head against the bench, close my eyes and swallow a few times; fighting down the queasiness.  

My body disagrees with having a large piece of wood and metal stuck through it and sits shivering on the cold floor. With every breath the arrow shaft grates against bone, it's a nauseating sensation and I can't help whimpering every time I move.   

"Minnesota, huh?" 

From the corner of my eye, I glimpse a man crouching behind me. Bald, scar over his right cheek, piercing green eyes. I know him, he is in our files too: John Locke. He is on my list, but I'm not here for him, today. 

Jarrah comes closer and joins him. "That is the question, isn't it?" Both men are crouching just out of reach, scrutinizing me, trying to figure out who I am. 

I awkwardly try to sit up and turn to face them, but I'm limited by the fact that I'm still tied up. I don't try to hide the whimpers of pain when I move my arms. These people need to see a weak and pitiful little man. Harmless, just like them. 

Time to play my part. "Where am I?" 

"Who are you?" Of course, Jarrah is asking the questions. It was his former job in the Republican Guard after all. Let's hope that's all he does today, seeing as how Iraqi interrogators are not known for their subtle approach. 

"H-Henry. Henry Gale." Turning slightly to face him, I can’t help but stare horrified at the arrowhead protruding from my shoulder.  

"Ah, my back!" I give the men a pleading look before staring at my shoulder again. My stomach protests just by looking at all that blood and I quickly turn my head, hissing at the stab of pain. 

Jarrah grabs my arm to get my attention. "We're going to take it out, but first I want you to relax." 

I nod in understanding, unable to speak. Sitting shivering on the cold floor does wonders for my performance. The interrogation continues, questions following each other rapidly. Jarrah is obviously well-trained, but I'm not worried. My cover is solid, complete with physical evidence if needed. 

"How did you get to this island?" 

"F-Four months ago, we crashed, m-my wife and I." 

"Crashed in what?"  

"A-A balloon. W-We were trying to cross the Pacific." The men share an incredulous look. I know, it is rather far-fetched if I hadn't known any better myself. Alex was right, it will take some convincing to get them to believe me. 

"Your wife, where is she?"  

I swallow, looking away. "S-She died. She got- she got sick. Three weeks ago. We were staying in a cave off the beach." 

I shift my position sends another stab of pain through me. "Ah! My shoulder!" I glance at the men and back to my shoulder, "At least untie my arms!" 

"What the hell is going on here?" A tall man walks into the room. Short, dark hair, authoritative. Ah yes, Dr. Jack Shepard, the man I'm here for. 

He comes over to take a closer look. One glance at the state I'm in, and his medical training takes over. Jarrah gets up and explains the situation while Shepard takes his backpack off. "Rousseau trapped him in the jungle. She believes he's an 'Other'." 

Looking up from the arrowhead covered in my blood, I give Jarrah an incredulous glare, "Another what?" 

Shepard and Jarrah ignore me, arguing among themselves. "You shot him with an arrow?" 

"Do I have a bow?" 

Locke remains crouched behind me, observing. He hasn't said a word, content to just watch. 

Shepard puts his bag on the counter and quickly comes over, kneeling beside me to check on me. "Hey... Hey, you with me?" 

Worn down with pain I can't help shivering, a moan escapes me, and I just nod in reply. Seeing how much pain I'm in, Shepard gets up and fetches his medical supplies. He keeps berating the other men about their actions. "You were going to let him bleed to death?" 

Jarrah feels the need to defend himself. "I was trying to get honest answers while he was able to give them. And his wound is far from life-threatening." 

Shepard gives him a sceptical glare before kneeling at my side again. I hadn't realised it with all the excitement going on, but I'm very thirsty and drink greedily from the offered cup of water against my lips. 

Having seen enough for the moment, Locke gets up and out of Shepard's way. "We should let Jack treat him first. Then we'll get our answers." 

"Jack, do not untie him." Shepard returns Jarrah's warning with an incredulous stare before turning to me again. 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

After gathering all the necessary medical supplies, Shepard kneels beside me and carefully examines my injury—without taking the ropes off my wrists. 

Cutting away the clothes around the arrow reveals the wound, leaving me gasping at the damage. It seems the bolt has been deflected by the scapula, nearly missing the clavicle, the sharp-edged triangular arrowhead protruding just underneath it. I'm surprised it didn't do more damage to the nerves and major arteries in that area. 

Shepard rummages through his supplies. Without warning he pours disinfectant over both wounds. I clench my teeth to stifle a scream, groaning at the burning pain. One moment of respite before a sideways glance shows a pair of pliers. I close my eyes and brace myself for what's coming. 

One hand on my shoulder steadies me, a sharp tug and a snap, a sharp stab of pain. My eyes snap open, and I gasp through the pain. Shepard drops the remains of the wooden shaft on the bench next to us, the arrowhead and part of the shaft still stuck in my shoulder. He presses some gauze around the still protruding piece, clamping down on the arrowhead with the pliers. 

A slightly comforting press of one hand, a steady pull with the other. The nauseating feeling of a foreign object being pulled from my shoulder, excruciating pain. Barely contained moans—blissful nothingness.  


	3. Everything under control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The survivors are not done interrogating yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be one very long chapter, but this is going to get so much worse for Ben, I wanted to give him a break for the moment. Also, some people might not want to read all the gory details of what is about to happen, so they can skip the next two chapters entirely.

_Cold floor_

_Burning pain_

_Shivering_

A door slams shut with a bang, startling me awake. Still groggy from exhaustion and shock, I try to understand what's happening. Someone's banging on the door.

"Sayid! Hey, what the hell are you doing? Sayid! Open the door!" Shepard's outside, shouting in frustration.

"What needs to be done." Jarrah slowly approaches me, tying back his hair. 

I suppose the first interrogation was only the beginning. Well, expecting anything less would've been too easy. Glancing around, I find myself lying shivering on a cold floor in the middle of a small room. It's just a cramped, windowless chamber. An empty gun-rack on one wall and some concrete outcroppings along another for furniture. The vent on the ceiling is thoroughly barricaded, the door heavy reinforced steel. Looks like they're serious about keeping prisoners.

A sharp tug on my wrists painfully reminds me of my situation.  I whimper while Jarrah ties my bound wrists to a ring embedded in the concrete floor. My legs won't move either; still tied up too, then.

Henry Gale didn't understand what was going on. He was scared and confused and he would try to reason with these people—like he did with us. Being in the same situation makes it easier to play the part.

A shadow looms over me. "Get up!"

"W-what is happening?" Trembling uncontrollably, teeth clattering, utterly pathetic. 

"Here, let me help you." Without warning, Jarrah grabs my shoulders and roughly drags me into a sitting position. 

Pain burning fiercely, a hiss between clenched teeth, a pitiful moan. Hands steady me until I'm sitting stable. Intelligent eyes stare at me, scrutinizing me. So much for the subtle approach.

"You said you've been here for four months." Jarrah gets up and walks slowly back and forth through the small room.

Slowly, gradually, the pain lessens and I can focus on Jarrah's words again. "W-what?"

"You said you came to this island four months ago, yes?"

"W-where am I?"

Jarrah leans over me, crowding me, impatient. "Please answer my question."

I swallow the lump in my throat. "Yeah-yes, we landed four months ago, maybe more. W-who are you?"

Jarrah gets up and starts stalking back and forth again, ignoring my questions. "And you were in a cave all that time?"

"Off the beach, on the north shore of the island." A glance at my shoulder tells me Shepard has done some good work with limited supplies. I can't wait to see what he's capable of with real medical equipment.

"How far from this beach to where you were captured?"

"I don't know."

"How many days walk?"

"Two, two days."

"Why did you stay on this beach for so long?"

Asks the man who still camps on the beach himself. "Why wouldn't we? We wanted to be there for fly-overs. We had an emergency beacon, a transmitter."

Jarrah halts mid-stride, suddenly very interested. "What kind of transmitter?"

"An ADF beacon. We wanted to make sure we'd be spotted." I try to break the flow of questions, throw Jarrah of his game. "Look, whatever you think I am, I'm not. Please, please, just tell me your name."

Jarrah leans against the wall, arms crossed. A blank stare is all I get, before he continues his barrage of questions. I'm slightly impressed by his technique.

"Your wife, what's her maiden-name?"

"M-Murphy." Looking down, I swallow. Poor Jennifer, she'll never find out what happened to her husband.

"Where did you meet her?"

"University of Minnesota."

Jarrah crouches in my personal space again, intense stare locked at my face. "How did she die?" 

"She got sick."

"She got sick?"

Irritation creeps in my voice hearing his mocking tone. "It started as a fever. After two days she was delirious. Then she died."

Jarrah leans back on his haunches, gathering his thoughts. He places his elbow on his knee, chin resting in his palm, studying me. Considering my answers. 

I try to reason with him, plead with him. "I don't know why you're asking me all these questions. I don't know why you are treating me this way. Why I have to explain to you who I am when you don't tell me who you are."

Surprisingly, he tells me. "I was 23 when the Americans came to my country. I was a good man. I was a soldier. And when they left, I was something different. For the next six years I did things I wish I could erase from my memory; things which I never thought myself to be capable of. But I did come to learn this. There is a part of me which was always capable. You want to know who I am? My name is Sayid Jarrah, and I’m a torturer."

His blatant acknowledgment of his former job description gives me pause. Even though he doesn't gloat, his matter-of-fact statement tells me he won't hesitate to use his skills on me. This might be an interesting challenge.


	4. Or maybe not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things don't always go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something to hold you over until the weekend.

Jarrah retreats to a corner and sits down, thinking. We both need time to process the information gained. I've managed to move myself in a slightly more comfortable position. Legs outstretched in front of me, crossed at the ankles. Left arm supporting the right, trying to relieve some of the pain in my shoulder. They still haven't untied me; the ropes are painfully chafing the skin on my wrists and ankles.

"Tell me about this balloon."

Sitting slumped on the cold floor, lost in my own thoughts, it takes me a moment to register his words. "What?"

"This balloon that brought you here with your wife, tell me about it."

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

Sitting up straighter, I look up at Jarrah. "She’s a hundred forty feet high, sixty feet wide. And when she’s up in the air, five hundred fifty thousand cubic feet of helium and a hundred thousand of hot air keep her up. And if you could look down on her, you’d see a big yellow smiley face on top."

I smile as I picture her in my mind. The sound of the burners, the warmth of the flames, the vibrant red and yellow fabric, the quiet stillness when we're up in the air. She's my, _Henry's_ , second love—after Jennifer of course.

The bewildered expression on Jarrah's face is priceless. "Why would you travel in that way?"

Embarrassed to meet Jarrah's eyes, a half shrug with my uninjured shoulder. "Because I was rich, because it was my dream. And Jennifer thought it would be neat."

"You were rich?" Jarrah is very good, picking up on that.

Looking him in the eyes, I scoff, "I guess I’m thinking of things in the past tense now. How’s that for optimism?"

We fall silent again for a moment. The pain in my shoulder is a dull throbbing. A little too unrelenting to be comfortable, but manageable at least.

"What did you do to become so rich?"

Jarrah startles me from my thoughts. "I sold my company."

"What kind of company?"

"Mining."

"What did you mine?"

I look away, flustered. "We mined non-metallic minerals."

I know that look Jarrah gives me; everyone looks at me like that when they learn about what exactly it is I did for a living. It isn't glamourous, like mining gold or precious stones, even if our minerals are far more useful.

I try to make fun of it, a little distraction. "I know, everyone wanted to talk to me at cocktail-parties."

Straight-faced, Jarrah doesn't even acknowledge the joke.

//\oOOo/\\\

Something in the way Jarrah stands up and stalks toward me, sends a shiver down my spine. I recognize that bearing, it's something I do to intimidate people. Fortunately, I know all the tricks.

Unfortunately, it means he doesn't believe me, and I'm not going to like what's going to happen next. Good thing I have hands-on experience with interrogation-techniques myself.

"Give me your hands."

Suddenly, my mouth is very dry. The gut-clenching sensation of an adrenalin rush leaves me trembling. The threat of breaking one's fingers is very effective; I don't think Henry ever thought about that before coming to the island.

An impatiently repeated order. "Give me your hands."

Looming over me, Jarrah pulls a pair of pliers from his pocket; it's the same pair Jack used to pull the arrow from my shoulder—my blood is still on it. In a reflex, I flinch away from him, fists tightly clenched.

Jarrah bends down to grab my hands. Hindered by the fact that I'm tied down, I'm unable to pull away, and he easily manages to grab my right hand. Fighting to keep my fists clenched, his fingers prying mine open, extending one vulnerable digit.

The pliers come closer, eyes widen, baring clenched teeth in a grimace—I brace myself.

Jarrah's in my face. "Where is she buried?"

Before he's even finished his question, the pliers clamp down on my finger.

"W-what?" Trembling in fear, staring from the pliers to Jarrah and back, I don't understand this new line of questioning.

"Listen to me! You said you buried your wife, tell me where." The pressure of the pliers increases—as does my heart-rate.

"What are you go..." My voice trails off, eyes widening as the pressure builds to an uncomfortable level.

"Where!"

I flinch at his roar. Tears stinging my eyes from the pain. I cower, trying to get away. Voice wavering, climbing in pitch. "In the jungle. By the balloon, in the jungle."

"How deep? How deep did you dig the grave?"

"I don't... it was... "

Not giving me time to answer, bellowing question after question, Jarrah keeps pushing. He's taking this way too personal, barely containing himself. Hasn't anyone told him that pushing people this hard, this fast, never results in any reliable information?

"How deep, how many shovelfuls of earth? Did you use your hands? How long did it take you?"

Trembling like a leaf from shock and pain, scared out of my mind, I break down. On the verge of tears, my voice breaks. "I-I don't remember."

That sets Jarrah off. "You would remember! You would remember how deep. You would remember every shovelful, every moment. You would remember what it felt like... to place her body inside. You would remember if you buried the woman you loved. You would remember... if it were true!"

He takes a few deep breaths to calm down. I'm stunned; with that kind of verbal assault, how can anyone remember anything? This might be my only chance to defuse the situation before it gets out of hand.

Despite my pain, I try to be as kind as possible. "Did you lose someone? Did you lose someone here on the Island? Did you lose someone too? What happened to her?"

Jarrah calms down, sounding more reasonable. "It was an accident. It was an accident. The woman responsible thought she was someone else; someone coming to hurt her. Someone like you!"

Unfortunately, instead of calming him down, the memory sets him off again. Very agitated, he gets up, throwing the pliers in a corner.

Oh.


	5. Shut down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's alll fun and games, until someone gets hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is graphic in its description of a violent beating. It can be skipped entirely. Enjoy yourself with this one, M_E_Lover.
> 
> Mnemonic, I'm sorry

Jarrah looms over me, balling his fists in barely contained rage. I have only one chance, one last attempt to steer this conversation in a safer direction. "Just, just... This is all a mistake. Slow down here, ok? Hurting me isn’t going to bring her back." 

Jarrah's face twists into a snarl and I know it's over. "You know what I lost!" 

He decks me; pain explodes from my cheek, a cry of surprise; I'm knocked off-balance, stunned. A painful tug on my hair drags me up, whimpering. Before I can react, another blow hits my face. "Tell me the truth!" 

"No, stop!" Cowering, moaning, trying to get away. With my hands and feet still tied, I can't even protect myself, unable to even lift my arms. Another explosion of pain. 

Overcome with pain and fear, I'm pleading, begging Jarrah to stop. Not that he will listen, the man is clearly beyond reason. It's best to let him land a few punches, get it out of his system; I've been hit worse. 

"Tell me who you are!" 

Another whack, sharp pain, stars swim into vision; a sickening sound, nose breaking. 

"No... no... no! Help! Stop!" Pathetic whining, coppery taste of blood seeps into my mouth. 

"Tell me the truth, tell me who you are!" 

A fist connects with my mouth, lips split, hot blood gushing. Warm blood runs down my chin and throat. "Stop, please! I’ve told you everything!" 

"Sayid! Open the door!" Someone's banging on the door; Shepard.  

Jarrah doesn't seem to notice. He keeps bellowing, his fists raining down on my face. The pain of individual punches becomes an overwhelming painful sensation.  

"You’re lying!"  

"What do you want me to say? Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. Just, please…"  Another blow knocks me to the ground. A glimpse of a raised boot, a weak, desperate struggle to get up. The boot hits the side of my head—repeatedly. At some point my vision blurs, everything sounds muffled and I have to fight to stay conscious. 

"I want you to tell me the truth! Who are you! Who are you! Who are you!" Every question is punctuated by a punch or a kick. 

"Please stop! I’ll do whatever you want!" Sobbing, begging, hearing the same questions over and over again. 

I have lost track of time. An alarm sounds—in my head? I assess my situation; it's not looking good. Blood runs down my face, nose broken, and if all my teeth are still where they should be, I'd be surprised. 

Another blow, or kick, I can't tell them apart anymore, leaves me stunned. It's too much, I can't hold on much longer. Realisation dawns with gut-wrenching clarity—Jarrah's going to kill me.  _Oh, Alex, I'm sorry._  

"Hey... hey!" The beating suddenly stops. A last vicious kick in my face, head bashing full-force on the floor, blacking out for a second. 

"He’s lying!" Jarrah keeps fighting while Shepard drags him out of the room. "Not like this!"  

Panting, whimpering, unable to move. "I'll tell you whatever you want!" 

"He’s lying! He's lying! He’s lying!" Shepard pushes Jarrah away from the door. "That’s enough!"  

For a moment I lie still on the floor, heavily breathing, relieved. Slowly, I pull myself up on my elbows and knees, glaring at Jarrah while the door closes. I'll remember this—remember _him_.

//\ oOOo /\\\ 

 Shepard comes back, bringing supplies to clean my injuries. This time, he does untie me. Gently, carefully, checking and cleaning every cut and bruise.  

"Thank you for saving my life." Talking is painful, voice wavering. 

He gives me a slight nod. "I'll get you a cot. You should take it easy the next few days." 

After bringing me a cot and some food and water, Shepard leaves me alone. He closes the door on his way out, a click tells me it's locked. I'm not hungry, just drinking some water to wash away the blood in my mouth. Everything hurts; I suppose it will get even worse tomorrow. With a sigh I lie down, careful of my shoulder. 

A wrong move sends a flash of pain through my shoulder, waking me up. Jarrah really has done his best to kill me. If it weren't for Shepard, he would have succeeded. It seems I have underestimated the survivors—that won't happen again. 

Every muscle aches, stiff from abuse, I need to stretch my legs. Sitting up, wincing at a stabbing pain in my head, waiting for it to fade. Clumsily scrambling to my feet, a few unsteady steps, stretching abused muscles. A sharp piercing headache,suppressing a moan;the palms of my hands pressed to my temples, trying to relieve the pain. When the worst is over, I open my eyes, swaying a little on my feet.

Turning to walk to my cot, the room spins around me. The headache is back, worse than ever, can't think clearly. Nausea flares up, I close my eyes and swallow a few times, hoping my stomach will calm down. Clearly, I'm not well enough to go wandering about.  

One stumbling step, then another. I lurch to a halt, something's wrong. Another step, losing my balance, leaning to my left side, unable to walk in a straight line.  I swallow a lump in my throat, heart racing, cold sweat on my brow. A gasp when my vision blurs—I need help. 

Legs give out before I can stumble to the door for help. Unable to catch myself, knees and hip hit the floor, head hitting the cot—gone. 

 

 


	6. Reboot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rebooting the system. Or, some semi-conscious sensations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little something I thought of last night. These are a few random sensations, let me know if this style works, or not.

_Whispers_

 

_Blaze of light, agony_

 

 _Darkness_  

 

//\oOOo/\\\

  

 _Metallic_ _clanking_ _,_   _screeching_  

 

 _Whispers_  

 

 _Flash of light, stabbing p_ _ain_  

 

 _Darkness_  

 

//\oOOo/\\\  

 

 _Whispers_  

 

 _Flash of light, pain_  

 

 _More whispers_  

 

 _Soft light_  

 

 _Cool moisture in my mouth, s_ _wallow_  

 

 _Pain_  

 

 _Darkness_  

 

//\oOOo/\\\  

 

 _Metallic screeching_  

 

 _Faint light, unfocused figures coming closer_  

 

 _Flash of light, dull ache_  

 

 _Whispers_  

 

 _Pressure against my back, neck_  

 

 _Warm metal on my lips_  

 

 _Liquid_ _, warm, salt_  

 

 _Swallow_  

 

 _More whispers_  

 

 _Darkness_  


	7. Square one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's start over, shall we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From now on this story deals with the aftermath of traumatic brain injury.   
> I have no experience with a situation like this, and I don't want to hurt and/or insult anyone dealing with brain damage. So please educate me if there's something I did wrong and need to change. Your input is important to me.

A noise startles me awake with a small gasp. Pain... pain everywhere. Mouth and throat parched, too painful to swallow. Throbbing headache. It takes great effort prying my eyes open even a little—too dry too. Disoriented, confused. Where am I? 

Glancing around, squinting in the dim light, I find myself lying on a... a  _cot_ , in a small, unfamiliar room. No windows, no furniture, just some empty shelves on a plain, concrete wall, and a ledge that serves as a table and chair. 

Movement attracts my attention, squinting at a figure entering the room. The figure is a tall man with short dark hair. Seeing me watching him, he smiles at me. Do I know this man? I think I should, but nothing comes to mind.  

Quietly talking, the man comes closer, crouching beside my cot. I study him as he studies me. I still don't recognise him, my brain hurts, trying to remember. 

With measured, deliberate motions, the man takes a small object from his pocket. He keeps talking in a hushed tone. He stands up, leaning over me, coming even closer. Holding the object in front of my eye. Blinding bright light, pain explodes in my head. 

A hoarse groan, I flinch and close my eyes—still too intense. Trying to shield my eyes, unable to even raise my arms, soft whimper. Finally, the intense light flicks off, leaving just a dim light. 

The pressure in my head increases, pain so intense, every muscle convulses, spasms, wiping away all thoughts. 

//\oOOo/\\\  

Deep gasps, complete exhaustion, every muscle aching. A soft murmur, a hand on my shoulder, I freeze. Eyes wide open, looking up, staring at the unfamiliar face, terrified. A gentle squeeze and the hand moves between my shoulders, lifting, steadying me. A soft pillow supporting my neck and head.  

The man holds something against my lips. Cool liquid on my tongue, down my throat, swallow. Hurts. Repeat. He keeps talking in a gentle, hushed tone. I have no idea what he says. Too soon the liquid,  _water_ , is gone. Soft whimpering, following the object,  _cup_ , with my eyes, silently begging for more. The man shakes his head, walking away, taking the cup with him. 

He comes back with other objects, crouching beside me again. He points at my shoulder, explaining. I still don't understand a word he says. Following his hands with my eyes, I suddenly notice the red-stained square on my shoulder. A gasp, my eyes widen. What? Why do I have a... a  _bandage_  on my shoulder? What happened to me?  

Overwhelmed by all the questions in my head, a fierce stinging pain brings me back to the present. Carefully, gently, the man peels the bandage off of my shoulder. A hiss, squeezing my eyes shut, a soft grunt. The loss of hair hurts much less than the liquid he pours in the wounds.  

With quick, precise motions, the man skilfully cleans and bandages the wounds. After that, he checks and cleans injury after injury, poking and prodding at every cut and bruise. Painfully swallowing the lump in my throat, I feel slightly nauseous. So many injuries! 

Finally, the man has finished, clearing away his supplies. He comes back with the cup, crouching beside me, holding out a small round object in his open palm. Looking at it, I don't know what to do. I glance at him and back at the small object, the  _pill_. Seeing my hesitation, the man mimics eating and swallowing it. 

Open my mouth, pill on my tongue, cool water, swallow painfully. More water, sip after sip, empty cup.  

Pain recedes, heart-rate slows down, muscles relax. Exhausted, I close my eyes to rest for a while. 


	8. Waking up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little more coherent thoughts.

I'm startled awake by loud noises. Metallic clanking, screeching; a door opens. Intensely bright lights flicker on overhead. Soft groan, eyes screwed shut. One arm slowly, obediently, covers my eyes, the other one lies painfully still.  

Squinting, I see a man come in. Have I seen him before? I can't remember. One look at me and he retreats. The harsh lights turn off, a sigh of relief. The man comes back and I lower my arm to take a closer look. Yes, I've seen him before. He comes closer, putting down a... a  _tray,_  on the floor next to me. 

Trying to push myself a little upright, not strong enough, hand weakly clawing in the blanket. The man reaches out, raised eyebrows, a few words. I don’t understand what he says, doubling my efforts to get up. With a few more words, the man comes closer, reaching for me. Feeling a hand on my shoulder, I freeze for a moment, relax and let him help me.  

Quietly talking, the man gently pulls me up in a sitting position, leaning me against a wall. A pillow in my back, one on my lap. For a moment, I close my eyes, tired from the effort. The man says something, placing the tray on the pillow on my lap. I stare up at him, not understanding. He points at the tray, talking. I blink a few times at him, glancing at his pointing finger and back. 

The man stops talking and stares at me, finally really looking at me. I blink. He slowly speaks a few words, his tone rising at the end. I blink again, I have no idea what is going on. 

He crouches beside my cot, scrutinizing me. He repeats his words, tone rising at the end. I stare at him. With a few words, he holds a finger up in front of my face, moves it from side to side. I follow its movement, baffled at its purpose. A loud snap near my ear makes me flinch, repeated at the other side. The small bright light in my eyes again, short, painful. With a few words, he leans back a little. Studying me for a moment longer, he points a finger at himself and carefully speaks one word. "Jack." 

I blink, trying to process this information. 

Repeating the word and his gesture. "Jack." 

I open my mouth; a garbled noise comes out. The man,  _Jack_ _,_ smiles, nods, points a finger at me. "… you?" 

I blink again, he repeats the words. "Who. Are. You." 

I stare at his finger, pointing at me. I don't know. Is that my name? Who-are-you. That doesn't sound familiar, but I can't remember. My tongue doesn't really cooperate, but I manage a few sounds. Jack's smile is wider now, nodding again. Apparently, it is my name. 

Excitedly, he names everything he touches. I understand a fraction of the words he says, trying to repeat them as best I can—incomprehensible. 

Jack points at my shoulder. "… wound." 

Following his finger to the blood-stained bandage, I swallow; this is going to hurt. I nod, understanding what he means.  

Clench my teeth, hiss of pain, suppressed grunt at the disinfectant, sigh of relief when it's done. It hurt a little less this time, hopefully a good sign. 

Jack holds out a glass. "… water." 

A garbled reply, reaching out, arm trembling, unable to lift the other. Not enough strength to grasp the glass, letting my arm fall, frustrated sigh.  

Jack smiles, nodding. He holds the glass to my lips. Gulping down as fast as I can, glass half empty before I can breathe. Jack pulls it away, shaking his head, saying something unintelligible. Instead, he holds up a bowl. Before handing me a spoon, he shows me how to use it.  

Trying to repeat the motions, hand trembling, barely able to grasp the spoon, hold it properly. No strength to raise my arm, lift the spoon, let it drop in my lap. 

I close my eyes in frustration, leaning my head back against the wall. 

"... help you." Jack touches my arm. 

I open my eyes, watching him bring a spoonful of food to my mouth. Resigned, I open my mouth, carefully chewing the contents of the spoon. Tastes sweet, soft, smooth. Chewing hurts, swallowing too. Slowly eating, bite after bite, stomach growling for more.  

Less than half of the bowl gone, I'm full, exhausted. Too tired to do anything, I refuse the next spoonful, turning my head, keep my mouth closed.  

Unable to keep myself upright, I slump down. Jack takes away the tray, helping me lie down, making me as comfortable as possible. Before my head touches the pillow, I'm fast asleep. 

 


	9. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Henry makes a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, RL happened for a bit.
> 
> This contains a description of a panic attack in the second part, you can skip that if you want.

I’m lying on my cot, hands on my chest, staring at the ceiling. Trying to remember what happened, understand what's going on. _Who. Are. You._

It's clouded in my mind, a jumbled mess. I can’t find anything in there anymore; no memories, no faces, nothing. _Who. Are. You._

Something in my chest tightens, clawing a hand over my heart. _Who. Are. You._

I don't even remember my name, what if I never remember anything anymore?

Deep breath; let's focus on the things I do know: I'm hurt. Everywhere, it seems. I can barely open my eyes and my nose feels like it is broken. My teeth wobble when I run my tongue over them and it hurts to swallow. Looking down at my body, I see the red-stained gauze on my shoulder. I can feel another one on my back.

I know something bad happened to me. Was it an accident, did I fall? I can’t remember. I gently run one hand over my face, the other arm hurts too much to even lift. I glimpse the angry red marks on my wrist. Startled, I look down, staring at the other—the same marks! That... that is not accidental, is it?

I shift my body a little, trying to find a more comfortable position. A sharp pain shoots through my lower back, I flinch, trying to suppress a grunt. This is ridiculous; what happened to me, and why can’t I remember anything?

//\oOOo/\\\

The metallic clanking of the door warns me that someone's coming. I'm glad the hellish lights stay out this time. A man with a tray in his hands. Confused, uncertain. This man is tall, bald, scar running over his eye and down his cheek. I frown. This... this isn’t Jack. I’ve never seen this man before, have I? I don't think so, _can’t remember_. An uneasy feeling in my chest, palms sweaty, heart racing.

The man puts the tray on the table and turns to me.

Trying to swallow the lump in my throat, a tightening in my stomach, difficult to breathe.

He smiles.

I gasp, mind racing; I need to get out, get away. Frantically searching for a way to escape, looking from the man to the door and back. Hands feebly clawing at the cot, trying to push me up, away.

A step closer, smile widening, opening his mouth to say something.

All reason gone, I run. It takes all my strength, but I manage to get up on my elbows. Fire burning in my shoulder, heels digging into the cot; scrambling to get away. Heart pounding in my chest, I can’t breathe, staring wide-eyed at the man coming at me. Backing myself into a corner, desperately fighting for air.

The man stops, smile fading. "Jack!" He turns his head to the door, shouting something over his shoulder.

I focus on the man in front of me. Trembling, struggling to breathe, eyes wide, unable to look away.

"It's okay, it's okay." A familiar voice beside me, quietly, gently talking.

It takes me a moment to look away, stare at the familiar face of Jack. He’s kneeling beside the cot, within reach, not reaching out. I don’t understand what he is saying, but his hushed tone unwinds some of the tension.

He shows me how to calm down, demonstrating with his hands and body how to breathe. Deep breath in, hold, exhale. Slowly, the fear fades, breathing easier, muscles relax. Keep breathing.

//\oOOo/\\\

Gradually, I become aware again of my surroundings. Pounding headache, cool concrete against my back. Cramp in my legs, burning pain in my shoulder. Throat dry, raw. Wetness in my stinging eyes, on my face.

Finally, Jack stands up, giving me space. Back firmly pressed against the wall, I heave a few deep sighs, wary of the stranger still standing in the middle of the room.

Jack points at him, beckons him closer. "… is John."

The man comes closer, I tense, still anxious. With a gentle smile, he kneels beside my cot. "Hello."

I blink, didn't expect a quiet, gentle voice. I glance up at Jack, he smiles, nods.

I look back at the man, carefully repeating the word. "He-l-l-oo."

His smile widens, like Jack's behind him. Apparently, it's a good word.

"I'm John."

"Eye-m-zjonn." Difficult name to pronounce.

The man laughs and shakes his head. "No, just John."

Confused, I try again. "Zjust-zjonn?"

He laughs even harder. Frowning, I glance at Jack. He's laughing too, shaking his head. I don't understand.

When he's calmed down, the man tries again, pointing at himself. "John."

"Dzjoh-hnn."

Both men nod and bare their teeth in a wide grin. It's a little unnerving and I have to fight down my fear. 

I look at the man, _John_. Lifting my uninjured arm, I point a shaky finger at myself. "Who-ar-you."

That wipes the grins of their faces.

//\oOOo/\\\

I suppose I said something wrong, because Jack pulls John aside, out of my hearing. I don't mind, I don't understand them anyway. Staring down at my hands in my lap, waiting.

An unfamiliar feeling presents itself in my lower body. Frowning, I place a hand on the area, trying to determine what that feeling is. Unpleasant, not painful, pressure. I clench my fist, putting pressure on the sensation.

"…you feeling?"

I look up and see Jack crouching in front of me, a slight frown on his face. I don't understand what he means.

He points at John, kneeling next to him. "John."

Then he points at himself. "Jack."

Then he points at me, speaking clearly. "Henry."

He repeats the word, pointing at me. "Henry."

"H-Henn-r-ry." The word, name, doesn't roll off the tongue easily, doesn't sound familiar.

I try again. "Henn-ry." That sounds better.

It takes me a while to understand why John extends a hand towards me. Mirroring his action, I extend my own trembling hand. He gently grabs hold and carefully shakes our hands up and down twice before releasing mine again.

"Nice to meet you, Henry."

"N-nice... meet... you."

//\oOOo/\\\

The unpleasant pressure makes itself known again, this time more insistent. I frown, shift a little, press my fist harder against it. It doesn't help, the feeling intensifies, demands to be attended.

Jack sees my face, glances at my fist. Realisation dawns on his face. He stands up, holding out his hand. "Come with me."

I hesitate, uncertain. He beckons me, waving his hand. "Follow me."

Pushing myself forward. Muscles trembling, fire in my shoulder, feet touching the floor. Deep breaths, unable to push myself up. Hands under my arms, supporting, lifting me up. Swaying, trembling legs, too weak to stand. Uninjured arm slung over broad shoulders, strong hand gripping my waist; holding me up, carrying most of my weight.

Step by step, Jack and I slowly walk to the door. Squinting at the brightly lit room beyond mine, the ever present headache grows stronger. A stumble, dragging Jack with me. Another pair of strong hands steady me, us, guiding me through the door.

A moment to adjust to the bright lights, an open space. Couch in a corner, past the kitchen, table and benches in another corner. A glimpse through an open door, strange objects, strange roof, _ceiling_.

Slow, uncertain steps, staggering, making our way through a corridor, both men supporting me. A short distance before we round a corner. John opens a door, white tiles, bright light, a... a _toilet_.

Hands hold me up, others unbuttoning, helping me undress, gently lowering, seating me. All of a sudden, my body remembers, a small sigh when immense relief floods me.

More help when I'm done, cleaning me, pulling me up, supporting me, dressing me. A fleeting thought, wondering how they dealt with this while I was unconscious, makes me chuckle. Both men give me a side-glance, making me chuckle even more.

The exertion has left me exhausted, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. Halfway back to my room  I stumble. Knees buckle, I collapse, too worn out to move any further. Jack and John pick me up, carrying me back. I feel my back hit the cot, head touching the pillow, asleep before they have left the room. 


	10. A new encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry meets someone new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first. To everyone who reads this: Thank you so much for reading this story. Thank you for all your support, kudos and/or comments. I never thought anyone would be interested in what I thought up, let alone enjoy what I wrote down. And Thank you dear M for convincing me to write. <3
> 
> This chapter has taken me somewhat longer to write. RL got in the way, sorry about that.
> 
> Apparently, there's more to this little idea than I knew, because I'm writing it down as you're reading this.

I wake up sore and stiff from all the activities earlier.  _Yesterday?_ Gingerly stretching abused muscles, carefully testing my shoulder. Painful but somewhat better. I can move my arm a little, but still lack strength in my hand. Both my hands still tremble; I don't think I should handle sharp objects any time soon.

With a suppressed groan, I slowly, uncomfortably, manage to sit up on my cot. I wonder about how much more clearly visible everything is, until I realise they left the bright lights on. That probably explains the dull headache.

Looking around, squinting, I spot a tray on the floor beside my cot. On it is a cup of water. I hesitate, looking from the cup to my trembling hands and back. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth; I really need something to drink. Question is, can I lift that cup? Only one way to find out. 

With some effort I swing my legs over the edge, sitting there for a moment to gather my strength. I bend down and grab the cup with both hands,  _careful_ , trying not to spill anything. Of course, that doesn't really work, and I end up spilling water all over my clothes. Still, even though I have trouble lifting my arms, I manage to drink a few good mouthfuls.

Unfortunately, things go sideways when I try to put the empty cup down again. The strain on my shoulder becomes too much, my arm and hand unable to hold on, my other hand fumbling for a moment before the cup clatters to the ground. The loud noise echoes through the room, making me wince. Surprisingly, the cup is still in one piece.

The ruckus has attracted attention from outside. Within moments, the door clanks, opens, and John rushes in.

"Is everything all right?"  

Startled, I flinch and glance from him, to the cup and back. Tall frame, slightly tense, a little too close. I'm not sure what he means, but he looks angry. 

Following my gaze, John glances at the cup. "Did you pick up that cup by yourself?" He looks back at me, eyebrows raised, intense stare.

I swallow, don't dare look at him, ashamed of my clumsiness, anxious about his reaction. I keep looking down at my hands, idly plucking at the wet stains in my lap.

"That's great, well done Henry."

I look up at John's gentle tone. He has a wide smile on his face. I'm confused, isn't he angry with me?

"Don't worry, I'll clean that up." Kneeling down, picking up the cup and tray at my feet.

He stands up. "Do you need anything?"

Need. I understand that; _I need_. Pointing at myself, then at the door, then at him. "Need... h-help."

"You need to go to the bathroom?"

I nod, glad he understands. "Ba-af... room."

"All right, let's give you a hand." John puts away the tray and comes over.

His hands supporting my arm, helping me up. Swaying on my feet, staggering steps, grabbing his arm to steady myself. Slowly, John guides me to the bathroom.

//\oOOo/\\\

Trembling hands, clumsy fingers, fumbling with the buttons. I grow increasingly frustrated with my lack of strength and dexterity.

"You need some help?" John comes closer, pointing.

Resigned, I sigh and nod, turning slightly towards him. John lets me show him what assistance I need. His fingers help me with the buttons, supporting me to sit down. I'm glad to find I can do a little more myself now, needing less help than before. 

When I'm done, I shuffle to the sink to wash my hands. A glimpse from the corner of my eyes, a sudden movement. I startle at the sight of a small, birdlike man staring wide-eyed at me. Large blue eyes, high forehead, narrow asymmetrical features.

What shocks me most about this man, isn't the horrible black and purple bruising covering most of his face. Nor the gashes in his lips, eyebrow, and forehead. It isn't even the fact that his shirt is open to reveal a huge blood-stained bandage covering his shoulder. 

No, what shocks me most, is the drawn, haggard look on his face. Like he nearly died; or is dying. I stare at the man for a long time before I blink. He blinks too. My slow, slow brain finally makes the connection— _mirror_. 

I study the face staring back at me for a long time. I know this man is me, I just don't recognise him,  _me_ , at all. I heave a deep sigh, what happened to me?

"Everything all right?" John's standing beside me, looking at me in the mirror.

Meeting his gaze, I recognise those words. I glance back at the ill looking man. A half-sided shrug; I don't know. The man in the mirror shrugs too. Will we ever find ourselves again?

Suddenly I can't face the man in the mirror any longer. I turn around, pain shoots through my lower back. A hiss of pain, a stumble, strong hands steadying me.

"Everything all right?"

"Y-yes... r-right, Jo-hn."

John holds out his arm and I gratefully accept his offer of support. Slowly, I stagger back to my room, the pain fading to a dull ache in my back. 

John seems to understand that I need some time to think, and he keeps quiet until we're back in my room. 

Helping me sit down on my cot. "Do you need anything else?"

I understand his meaning, not his words. I shake my head and lie down, I need some time alone. Without a word, John nods, collects the tray and leaves, closing the door as quietly as possible behind him. 

The click of the lock reminds me of my situation.


	11. A new toy for Henry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has some ideas about rehabilitating his patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little something for the weekend.

I have no idea of passage of time. There are no windows, no clock, just an alarm beeping every so often. It seems that every time I wake up, either Jack or John brings me food and water, escorting me on the occasional bathroom breaks.  

They won't let me walk around on my own yet. Sometimes I hear other voices. They won't let me see who they belong to, but that's fine though, I don't feel like having much company. 

I sit on my cot with my back against the wall. The door opens and Jack enters the room. He carries a tray with medical supplies. 

"Hello, Henry." 

"H-helloo... Jack." 

Seeing Jack with the tray, tells me he's here to change my bandages. Gingerly, I get up, suppressing a grunt of effort, staggering to the bench. It will be easier for Jack to treat me there. He helps me sit down, I'm already tired. 

Checking every other injury first, Jack finally moves to the bandage on my shoulder. A swift flick of a wrist, ripping the tape off, a flinch, a hiss of pain between clenched teeth. 

"I'm sorry, Henry. I know it hurts, but it has to be done." 

I nod. "Hurt... yes." 

Jack holds up a familiar bottle. "This is going to sting a bit." 

I nod again, gritting my teeth. Cold liquid, burning in my wounds. A gasp, squeeze my eyes shut, panting through the pain. 

"Almost done, Henry. Just a new bandage." 

Jack works as fast as he can, cleaning, disinfecting, bandaging the hole in my shoulder. A sigh of relief, the pain already fading to a dull throbbing. 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

After cleaning the medical supplies away, Jack holds out a small, round object to me. "Here, I want you to use this, with both hands." 

I stare at the object, frowning, confused at its purpose. I look up at Jack.

With a sigh, he explains. "It's a rubber ball." 

"B-ball." My frown deepens, even more confused. What am I supposed to do with it? 

"Here, I'll show you." Jack squeezes the ball first with one hand, then the other. "Using this will improve your motor-skills and your hand-eye coordination." 

He holds the ball in front of me. I'm not sure what he said, but apparently, he wants me to do what he showed me. Moving my right arm still hurts, so without thinking I reach out with my left. Before I can grab the ball, Jack pulls it out of reach. 

He points at my injured arm. "Try to use that arm, it needs the exercise." 

He offers me the ball again, and after giving him my best glare, I try again.  

Lifting my arm, fire burns in my shoulder, grit my teeth, reaching out,  _reaching_. Stretching my arm, breathing through the pain, nearly reaching Jack's hand, fingers brushing over the ball. Not strong enough to grasp, trembling, impossible to hold on any longer. Excruciating pain forces me to drop my arm in my lap. 

Sweat runs down my face, panting from the exertion, close my eyes to gather my strength. This was all I'm capable of, a headache already building. After a few moments, I look up to see Jack looking down at me with a wide smile.  

"Well done, Henry. We'll practice this regularly. In the meantime, practice squeezing that ball." 

He hands me the ball, making me show him that I understand what he wants me to do. Trying my best to remember, I squeeze the ball a few times. Jack nods, seeing that I understand. "That's all for today, Henry, you did great." 

Exhausted, I try to get up. Before I can stumble to my cot, Jack gives me a hand, helping me settle down. After making sure I'm comfortable, he picks up his tray and leaves me. 

Gradually, my headache fades a little, releasing me to sleep. 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

I stare at the man looking back at me in the mirror. I still don't recognise his face, still don't recognise  _me_. He looks a little better though, not so gaunt as he did before. His eyes no longer dull but shining a little brighter. Bruises fading from black and purple to dark-green, gashes nicely scabbed over. Split lips healing but still tender, certain to leave nasty looking scars. 

I run my tongue over my teeth. It seems they have agreed to stay, only a slight wobble in one or two reminds me of what happened. A glance at the gauze taped over my shoulder; still white, so that too is healing nicely. 

Feeling a little stronger, steadier on my feet, able to walk on my own again. Using Jack's rubber ball, torture device really, has had effect. I'm able to lift my arm higher, hold it up longer. I have more strength in my hand, better dexterity. 

The only things that haven't changed are the nagging feeling in my back and the occasional headache. And of course, the fact that I still don't remember anything. _At all_. 

I finish up washing at the sink and John hands me a towel, raising his eyebrows. For a moment I just stare at the towel in his outstretched hand before taking it. I know they want to help me, it's just that I know the word, it just won't come out. 

John cocks his head. "Well?" 

I glance from the towel to John and back, trying to force the word out. "T-tow... towel." 

John gives me a big smile. "Very good, Henry, well done." 

I gently dry myself off, careful of the bruising and scabs, before handing the towel back. A glance at the man in the mirror, shows his,  _my_ , hair sticking up in all directions. 

A thought, image, comes to mind. A little girl, greenish-brown eyes, happy smile. Sitting on a swing, gently swaying, one hand on a gift-wrapped box in her lap. 

"Henry..." 

"Henry!" 

A hand squeezes my shoulder, startling me from my thoughts. Confused, I look around, searching for... for the girl?  

My eyes find John, studying me, a worried look on his face. "Everything all right?" 

Blinking a few times, the image rapidly fading from my mind. "Y-yes." 

John studies me for a while. "Are you sure? You looked a little absent." 

A slight nod. "Yes... John." 

I glance around one last time, the man in the mirror looks a little upset. Everything seems normal, the image already a vague memory.  

"Jack said you might still have some memory problems, so just take it easy."  

I nod, still a little shaken.  

"Come, let's get you back." John's hand on my shoulder guides me back to my room. 

John leaves me sitting on my cot, handing me the rubber ball. I can't help thinking about what happened. I can’t recall the image, but it makes me think about family. _My family_. Do I even have a family? Where are they, and why can’t I remember them? 


	12. Some bad news

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry gets some bad news

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is exactly why Ben went to the survivors' camp in the first place, even if he doesn't remember.

The metallic clanking sound of the door startles me awake. John comes in, a tray of food in his hand, walking to the table. Pushing myself up in a sitting position, swinging my legs over the edge of the cot. Sharp pain shoots through my lower back, suppressing a grunt, my hand flies to the painful area.  

"What's wrong?" John turns around, a concerned look on his face. 

A shake of my head, it's nothing. Still rubbing the sore spot, I try to get up, a tingling sensation running down my leg. The feeling subsides and the pain fades to a dull ache when I'm finally on my feet. 

From the corner of my eye, I see John scrutinizing my every move. 

A few uncertain steps take me to the table, where John has put down the tray. I carefully lower myself to sit down, still a little painful.  

I look at the plate of food, is it breakfast?  _Dinner?_  I can't tell, I don't know what time it is. I don't even know how long I've been here. 

I glance up at John to see him still staring at me with a raised eyebrow. "Well? Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" 

Reaching back, touching the painful spot. "H-hurt... here. Back." 

John studies me for a moment, then he nods. "All right, I'll let Jack know. He'll take a look at that." 

I shrug, he doesn't need to bother. "Bet-better... now." 

John raises his eyebrow again, not convinced, but says nothing, leaving me to my dinner.  _Breakfast?_  

//\oOOo/\\\ 

After finishing my meal, I stretch my legs, wandering around within the confines of my room. Walking seems to relieve the ache in my back, and after a first few faltering paces, my steps become a little more stable and I find a comfortable gait.  

Walking from the door to the opposite wall and back, practicing the exercises with the ball Jack showed me. On the third or fourth round, I stumble to a halt when I hear the door. Turning around, I watch Jack come in.  

He sees what I was doing and waves his hand. "Go on." 

I turn around, taking the two steps to the wall before turning around, walking towards Jack. He scrutinizes me, studying every movement. I suppose John has told him about my back. 

"Can you tell me where it hurts?'' 

It takes me a few seconds to process the question. Then I understand, pointing a hand at my back. "Hurt... here." 

Jack nods. "All right, I'm going to take a closer look at that. Can you turn around and lift your shirt for me?" 

Seeing my confused frown, Jack clarifies his request with some gestures. 

"Oh, y-yes." Now I understand. 

I still can't lift my arm very well, so I pull my shirt over my head in a slightly awkward manner. Jack studies me, nodding to himself at the way I use my injured shoulder.  

For a moment I stand there with the shirt in my hand, a shiver down my spine, already forgotten why I took it off. Again, Jack gestures for me to turn around and, dropping the shirt, I comply. 

Hands running gently but firmly down my spine, a flinch when they reach the painful area, trying to keep still as possible. Warm fingers poking and prodding at the sore spot, a hiss of pain as they find the exact location. 

"Okay Henry, I need you to bend down for a moment." Jack shows me what he wants me to do. 

"Now, turn this way. Good, thank you. Turn the other way, please. Good." He examines my back for a while, asking me to change positions every so often until he is finished. 

"You can turn around now and put your shirt back on." He picks up my tattered shirt and hands it to me, scrutinizing the way I dress myself.  

I look up at Jack expectantly, waiting for further instructions. I don't understand why his expression makes me so uncomfortable. 

"Have a seat." He points at my cot, following me when I do as he says. 

He crouches in front of me. "How long have you been feeling this pain?" 

It takes my brain way too long to understand the question. A shrug, trying to force the words out. "I-I... not... know." 

Jack sighs, nods. "Okay Henry, here's the thing. From what I've seen, the problem is in your L4 vertebra. It could be a pulled muscle, a hairline fracture of the disc, or even a hernia. It might be something else entirely. I can't be sure without additional testing, and I just don't have the tools to examine you more extensively." 

He looks at me apologetically. "I'm sorry Henry, this is all I can tell you. There's nothing I can do to help you in any meaningful way. My best advice right now is to keep moving carefully and avoid lifting things." 

The look on Jack's face tells me what his words can't. It's worse, much worse, than I thought. I swallow and look away, slightly nauseous. 

"Do you understand?" 

"Yes." I nod, looking at my hands in my lap, unable to meet Jack's eyes. 

Getting up, he squeezes my shoulder for a moment. "If the pain gets worse, let me know. I have some painkillers left." 

I nod again. "Th-thank... you, Jack." 

Jack gives me a small smile before leaving, taking the empty tray with him.

I carefully lay down, facing the wall, knees pulling up, curling in on myself. The tingling sensation reminding me all is not well. I need some time to think about what Jack told me, well, what he didn't tell me. 


	13. More bad news

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It would seem that Henry can't catch a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, there's more bad news for poor Henry. I promise, the next chapter will hopefully be more light-hearted.

Restlessly, I pace back and forth in my room, still slightly unsteady on my feet. Mind racing, unable to relax, headache oppressively present. Frustrated, angry,  _scared_.  

I'm still reeling from Jack's news. I think I understood half of what he said, if even that much. It is enough to scare me to death. I wish I could ask him for an explanation, but I can't even speak enough words to greet anyone, let alone ask complex questions. Most of the words are there, locked in my mind, they're just not...  _available_. It's frustrating to say the least. 

I can't help but keep pacing, trying to escape the random thoughts and questions that fill my mind.  It's all too much and the pounding headache is making it difficult to think clearly.  

Suddenly all my anger, frustration, fear, can't be contained any longer. I lash out, hitting the first thing within reach, slamming both my fists against the door. It's too much of a relief to even care if the loud noise wakes anyone, and I hit the door again.  

Hot burning pain shoots from my injured shoulder down to my fingertips. Clutching my arm as I stagger back to my cot, rage finally spent, the pain in my arm quietening the turmoil in my head.  

I sit down, cradling my arm, waiting for the pain to subside.  

The door rattles, Jack rushes in, John on his heels. "What the hell is going on?" Jack comes closer, looking tense, concerned. 

I flinch at his harsh tone, shifting a little, clutching my arm closer to my chest. "Not-noth..." 

"Don't lie to us, Henry." Jack crouches in front of me, looking at my arm. "What happened?" 

"I-I... I was...I did..." I can't tell them, can't explain. "S-sor-ry." 

With that, all my energy drains away. I drop my injured arm in my lap, resting my other elbow on my knee, supporting my head in my hand, fingers clawing through my hair. 

Jack gently takes my arm and lays an examining hand on my shoulder. "What's wrong, Henry?" 

I look up at him with a sigh, trying my best to voice my frustrations. "Who... me?" Looking from Jack to John standing by the door and back. "Who... you? I-I not... know." 

I'm not sure if Jack understands me, but he turns around, sharing a look with John. A nod, and John comes over, crouching beside Jack. 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

John studies me for a moment. A brief, silent conversation with Jack, another nod, and John turns to me again. "All right, I'll tell you what you need to know." 

"We are survivors of Oceanic flight 815 from Sydney to L.A. that crashed on this island. We have been here since September 22nd." 

I don't understand. "Crash?" 

"Yes, a plane-crash." John holds out his flat hand, level with the floor, angling it downward, and lets it fall in his other hand. 

What? I was on a plane? Is that how I was injured?  

Jack, finished with his examination, sees the look on my face, shaking his head. "You weren't on the plane with us. We found you after the crash, in the jungle." 

"I... jun-jungle?" What jungle? Frowning, confused, glancing from Jack to John and back, trying to understand. 

John continues, speaking slow and clear. "You were found in a trap, in the jungle. The person who captured you, shot you in the back when you tried to escape. One of our people brought you here for medical attention." 

My sluggish brain struggles to keep up with all the information, but one word stands out. 

"Shot... me?" 

I glance down at the large gauze taped to my shoulder, a small red stain already spreading out. I guess that explains the hole in my shoulder. Slowly, my mind catches up with the rest of the words, and I realise something is...  _off_.  

I look at both men, pointing at my face. "What hap-happen... to me?" 

They share a look. John looks away first. 

Jack starts talking, his eyes on John. "We discovered that we weren't alone on this island. Our people, the survivors, have been attacked by an unknown group of people called 'The Others'." 

At this, Jack looks at me with an intensity I don't understand. "These 'Others' kidnapped several of our people, hanged one of our own who tried to track them, and kidnapped a pregnant woman to steal her baby." 

I blink. "W-what?" 

This time John answers. "The person who caught you, tells us you're one of them, one of 'The Others'. You were brought here to find out who you are and what you know." 

Bewildered, I keep staring at him, unable to understand what this has to do with me being in this debilitated state. 

"Others... h-hurt me?" 

A quick glance at Jack, before John turns his inscrutable gaze to me. "No, they didn't. We asked you some questions. Your answers were... lacking. One of our people took it upon himself to press you further." 

"W-what?" I'm shocked, did he just say...? I look from one to the other and back. "You... hurt me?" 

Both men are staring at me, at least they have the decency to look uncomfortable.  

"Why? Why... hurt me?" 

John studies me for a moment, contemplating his answer. "We believed it was necessary." 

"What?" My mouth drops open, I can't believe it. "Why?" 

"The man who beat you, believes you are lying to us." John and Jack share another look, an unspoken conversation I'm not privy to. 

John continues. "He believes you are trying to gain our trust for your own purposes. What those are, we don't know. We wanted to find out." 

At this, Jack bristles. "Not like this!" 

Sitting up straight, I stare at Jack. So, the good doctor didn't want me to get hurt. Good to know that at least someone's moral compass still has a north. Too bad he didn't intervene sooner, _before_ they knocked my memories out of my skull. 

Seeing the look on my face, Jack explains. "They locked me out. I couldn't get in here in time, I'm sorry." 

I study Jack's face for a moment before giving him a slight nod. Apology accepted. 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

I stare at my hands in my lap, contemplating my situation. This is a lot to take in. A deep sigh, glancing at both men in turn, I need an explanation. 

"W-what... I say? Who... me? Why I... here?" 

Both men share a silent conversation again, a nod, and Jack continues. "You told us your name is Henry Gale, from Minnesota." 

"H-Henry... Gale." The name doesn't sound familiar. 

"You also claimed to have crash-landed here in a hot-air balloon with your wife." 

What? My heart jumps, I'm married, I have a family after all. A hopeful glance at the door. "W-where... she?"  

Jack's expression turns sad. "You told us she died of a fever a few weeks ago. You buried her by your balloon." 

Something in my chest tightens, I close my eyes, swallowing a lump in my throat. "Who... sh-she?" 

John's voice, quiet. "You said her name was Jenny. Jennifer Murphy." 

Shaking my head slowly, I can't believe this, any of this. How come I don't remember any of this? "Where... she?" 

"We don't know, you didn't tell us where your balloon crashed." 

A sigh, defeated. 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

After a moment of silence, contemplation, I remember some other questions I'd like an answer to.  

"Who?" 

John frowns. "Who what?" 

"Who... " Struggling to find the right words, to express myself. At last I give up. A shrug, waving a hand at my face again. "… this?" 

Jack's face lights up in understanding. "You mean, who did this to you?" 

I nod. 

Jack glances at John. "No, I won't tell you who did this to you. I don't want you to take revenge." 

I look at John. He shakes his head. Staring down at my hands, I sigh, a nod in acquiescence, I understand. 

To be honest, I don't know what I would do to the person who put me in this situation. It's difficult being angry at someone when I don't even remember anything that happened. Maybe it's better if I concentrate on healing, trying to get some memories back. Maybe it's a good thing I don't know who did this. 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

Lost in thought, I forget the two men in front of me, until they startle me by getting up to leave. Looking up at their retreating backs, there's one more thing I need to know. 

"W-what time... go?" 

Turning back to me, John and Jack exchange confused looks. "What?" 

Immensely frustrated with my brain, I try again. Pointing at myself, at the door. "What time... I go?" 

Both men look at each other. A raised eyebrow from one, a shrug from the other is all they need to decide. 

"We don't know if we can trust you, Henry." John tells me. "We can't let you leave for a while. Not until we've spoken with the rest of our people. Do you understand that?" 

Studying both men for a long moment, I nod. After everything I just heard, I need time to think. 

I watch Jack gather my empty bowl and glass, giving me a slight nod before leaving. John gives me a smile before following Jack. The door shuts with a bang, locks with a definite click. Alone at last.  

Sitting on my cot, contemplating every piece of information. I'm still frustrated with my failing mind, scared and confused with my current situation, sad for the loss of someone I can't even remember. 

At least the pain in my arm has subsided to a bearable level. Unfortunately, the pain in my head not so much. The only thing I can do now is lie down, close my eyes, and wait, covering my eyes with my blanket, blocking out all light.

 


	14. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry gets some breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your ongoing support!

I wake to the sound of the door being unlocked. For a moment, I can’t see. Then I remember, pulling away the blanket. Blinking, looking up, Jack standing in the doorway.  

Instead of stepping inside, he stands aside, holding the door open. "You want some breakfast?" 

I nod, stretching abused muscles, scrambling stiffly to my feet. My shoulder still hurts after my actions earlier, one glance at the bloodstain on the bandage tells me I probably damaged myself. 

I follow Jack out of my room, skirting the kitchen area, towards the dining area on the far side of the central room. On the way, we pass an open doorway. Behind it is a room with a strange domed ceiling, filled with all sorts of computer equipment. 

"W-what... there?" 

A glare from Jack. "Nothing." 

I look away, picking up my pace, I don't want him to change his mind. 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

Jack leads me to the alcove; a dinner table with two benches on either side. John is already seated, eating his breakfast. I slide in the bench, taking a seat opposite him, careful of my freshly injured arm. From the corner of my eye, Jack and John exchange some looks that I pretend not to notice. There seems to be some tension between them.

My stomach growls, drawing their attention back to me. Heat creeps up to my ears, cheeks burning. Trying to escape their scrutiny, I grab the first thing within reach. A large white box with black letters and symbols. CEREAL. I inspect the contents, trying to figure out what to do with it. 

Looking at John's breakfast, it apparently is supposed to be poured in a bowl. Using my injured arm, I'm relieved to find my stunt didn't do permanent damage. I manage to transfer some of the box's contents into an empty bowl, spilling only a few flakes. A glance sideways, Jack watching every move, a slight nod of approval at my recovery. 

A glance at my bowl, an irresistible urge to use my fingers; a pinch between thumb and forefinger, shoving it in my mouth before I can change my mind. 

I know I'm supposed to eat with utensils, and I do know how to use them, it's just that this product begs to be eaten with bare hands. I have no idea why, though. Shouldn't be there something else added to the bowl of flakes? Munching on the sweet, crunchy flakes, I ponder the question. 

An image,  _memory_. A young girl, dark curls in pigtails, sitting on her knees on a  chair, bowl and spoon on the table in front of her. I don't recognise her, but a warm feeling in my chest unfurls. She's carefully pouring a white liquid,  _milk_ _,_ from a very large pitcher into her bowl of flakes,  _cereal_. Pouring a little too fast, spilling milk and cereal over the table. Startled, the girl looks up, her blue eyes wide, scared. A smile on my face, warm feeling deepening in my chest; she doesn't need to worry about the mess.

"Henry?" 

"Henry!" 

A hand on my shoulder gets my attention, Jack and John staring at me again.  

The image disappears again, only a vague memory, leaving me with a smile and a warm feeling in my chest. I still don't know who she is, but I know she means something to me. 

Jack looks worried. "Are you all right? You seemed miles away." 

I supress a smile. "Yes... fine." 

I focus on my breakfast again, searching the table, unable to find what I'm looking for. I turn to John. "You... milk?"  

John looks confused and I try again, forcing my brain and mouth to work together for a change. "Y-you got... any milk?" 

I look up from John to Jack and back, a smile on my face, happy that I finally managed to form a coherent sentence. 

John passes me a white carton with black symbols and letters. MILK. The weight surprises me, and I almost lose my grip. 

My arm trembling, using both hands to steady the  carton, carefully pouring. _Don't spill! _  A relatively steady stream of milk pours in the bowl, the flakes dancing on the whirling liquid. 

Before my arm gives out, I gingerly put down the carton, hoping that I have the right amount of milk and cereal mixed. I pick up my spoon with a trembling hand, fine motor-skills still a little off. I lean over my bowl, slowly scooping  spoonfuls in my mouth, trying not to spill too much. Eating like this is a slow process, sloppy, messy, frustratingly uncoordinated. 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

After watching me eat for a minute, Jack shoulders his backpack. "I'm going to the beach, doing the rounds. Take him back to his room when he's done." 

Before John can say anything, Jack has already left for whatever it is he's going to do. John and I are left to eat our breakfast in silence for a while until John's finished and leans back to watch me. 

"What were you thinking about?" 

So intensely focused at my task that I startle, promptly fumbling and dropping my spoon, spilling milk and cereal all over the table. "W-what?" 

"What did you remember?" John continues like he hasn't heard me. 

I stare at him, stunned, confused, unable to recollect the image. His questions remind me that all is not well. After a long moment I drop my gaze to the table, swallowing a couple of times, certain that there's some cereal is stuck in my throat. 

"I-I... not know." 

I shake my head and try again. "I do... do not... know." 

Having lost my appetite, I push my nowhere nearly empty bowl aside, hands in my lap, staring at the table. Will I ever remember? 

After another long moment, John heaves a sigh. "You will remember, Henry." 

A glance in his direction, a slight nod. I find his words hard to believe. 

A beeping sound draws my attention. It's something I hear very regularly, and I always wonder what it is. I glance at  John, but he doesn't give anything away. Instead, he gets up and starts to clear the table.

He points at my half-eaten breakfast. "Are you finished with that?" 

I nod and get up too. I follow John to the kitchen with some empty mugs. 

"Need... help?" 

He looks at me with a smile. "No, thank you, Henry. Let’s get you back to your room." 

After carefully putting the mugs in the sink, I follow John to my room. Before he leaves, he hands me a bowl of fruit and a glass of water. "I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Henry. I was hoping you’d remember anything." 

A small shake of my head. "Sorry... nothing." 

John gives me a nod, a sad smile crosses his face, closing the door behind him as he leaves. 


	15. Bird bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more revelations for Henry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the story took a little detour. I thought we were going in a different direction, but what do I know, I'm just the writer, right?  
> It's also a bit longer than anticipated, so expect the next chapter to be posted a lot later.   
> Enjoy yourself with this one. I did, anyway.

The door rattles, locks, leaving me standing in the middle of the room. Both hands full, feeling unsettled, feeling  _lost_. The trembling of my hands reminds me that I'm still recovering, unable to hold any weight for extended periods of time. I gingerly put the bowl and glass on the table, almost managing not to spill some water.  

Despite my earlier lack of hunger, my stomach has decided it could eat again, making me sit down to eat something. Slowly, methodically, the bowl of fruit empties and I feel slightly better.  

With nothing else to do, I settle on my cot and pick up the book they have left for me to read. I don't know what they were thinking; it's nearly impossible to decipher the words and those I do recognise, I can't even remember after struggling to read half a page. Even so, it does take my mind of off my situation for a while. 

Unfortunately, squinting at the tiny print for an extended period of time gives me a nasty headache; like most things seem to do these days. Right now, I can feel pressure building in my skull. It's no use trying to read anymore and I put the book down. I close my eyes, rubbing my temples, trying to relief some of the pain. It's not enough, all I can do now is lie down, close my eyes and wait. 

After what feels like a few minutes, the rest of my body reminds me that it's still there. Careful not to aggravate my headache, I slowly get up and shuffle to the door, knocking a few times to get someone's attention. 

This time, Jack opens the door and I follow him to the bathroom, squinting at the lights. They still won't let me go alone, always keeping an eye on me—as if I'm able to run away. 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

Jack keeps his distance, clinically observing me, watching the progress I've made. I'm glad I can do everything myself now, even though I still have some trouble with the buttons. After I'm done, I shuffle to the sink to wash my hands. The water feels pleasantly cool against my skin and instinct takes over. Scooping handfuls of water up, splashing my face, neck, cooling my head, trying to relieve the headache. 

"Henry..." 

I look up at Jack, water dripping off my face and hands, soaking my clothes, leaving a wet mess on sink and floor. 

A raised eyebrow. "Wouldn't it be easier to take a shower?" 

"Sh-show... shower?" I frown, I have no idea what that is.  

"Here, I'll show you." Jack beckons, showing me a small cabin with a glass door. “You can regulate the temperature with these.” He turns on a faucet and water sprinkles down from above.  

I put my hand under the warm rain, it feels amazing. A step forward, Jack's hand on my shoulder, stopping me.  

"You might want to take those off first?" 

Confused, I look down. Jack points at my clothes and at the shower. I look from my clothes to the shower and back.  

Of course. "O-okay. " 

Jack steps away, leaving me to let me take my shoes off. He returns with a bottle and towels. "Here is some soap, and a washcloth. I'll put the towels on this rack outside the shower." 

"Th-thank you." I wrestle with my shirt, still an awkward procedure, finally pulling it off over my head.  

"One more thing. Let me see those bandages first." I turn around and Jack quickly pries off the bandages, inspecting the wounds.  

"Okay, the wounds look good. You can wash them, just be careful with them. I'll check them later to see if they need bandaging."  

With those words he walks away, taking up position near the door—as if I could try to escape.

Shedding my clothes, dropping them where I stand, moving to step into the shower.

//\oOOo/\\\ 

The sensation is wonderful. I just stand there for a while, warm water cascading over me, refreshing, relaxing, tension draining from cramped muscles, headache gradually fading. Then I remember why I'm here. I manage to wash my hair without too much pain in my shoulder.Gently, thoroughly cleaning every inch of me I can reach, careful of my injuries. A hiss of pain when I touch my ribs, I look down.

Without clothes on, I can finally see the full extent of the damage done. It's been some time since I first woke up, but I can still see some bruising I hadn't noticed before, in places I didn't know I was hurt. Whoever did this, was very thorough indeed. A chill runs down my spine, the water not so pleasant anymore. 

Quickly rinsing off all the soap, I manage to turn off the faucet, stepping out of the shower, dripping wet, a shiver. I grab a towel off the rack, wrap it awkwardly around my shoulders, burying my face in the soft fluffy fabric for a moment. 

"Are you all right?" Jack scrutinizes me, frowning. 

I look up and nod, huddling inside the towel, clinging the soft fabric to my chest for comfort. "Yes... f-fine." 

A raised eyebrow. "Are you sure?" 

I nod again. "Yes... I-I saw... hurt."  

Frowning, Jack comes closer and I spread my arms, showing him the bruising on my ribs.  

He straightens, lips pressed in a line. "Dry yourself off, I'll check your injuries when you're done."  

I flinch, he seems angry at me, I don't know why. Another shiver down my spine, I dry myself off as best as I can.

Despite my initial shock at seeing the bruises, I do feel much better now that I've showered. A glance at the mirror, hair sticking up in every direction, bruises still visible all over my face, torso and even some on my back. I quickly look away, swallowing the lump in my throat.

Jack checks every bruise; a gentle touch here and there, in more places than I realised. I flinch at a touch on my ribs, still painful under pressure. I swallow, very aware of what could've happened, very lucky to be alive.  

At last, Jack checks my shoulder.  

"All right, Henry. All the bruises are fading nicely, no need to treat those, just be careful with those ribs for a while. The wounds on your shoulder look very well, all things considered, but I'll put another bandage on them for just a few more days." 

After gently taping some bandages on my shoulder, he hands me a bundle, my shoes on top.  

"I brought you some clean clothes, I think these will fit you." 

"Th-thank you... Jack." 

"Just get yourself dressed."

I try my new clothes on, even though they're slightly too large. The pants look somewhat like my own, but I think I need something to hold them up. I do like my new striped shirt though, it has small buttons all the way down so I don't have to put it on over my head. I bet Jack chose it to make me practice.  

Trying to button down my new shirt, fighting with the small buttons for a while, still having trouble handling very small objects. Frustrated with myself, I give up, leaving the rest of the buttons open.  

Nearly done now, kneeling, struggling to put on my own shoes. Surprisingly, I have less difficulty tying my shoelaces than I do those buttons. I get up, turn around and finally look at myself in the mirror.  

//\oOOo/\\\ 

I still don't recognise the man in the mirror, but he looks... _well_.  There are still some deep purplish spots in a few places, but most bruises have faded to a lighter shade of brown, green and yellow. Some of the scabs have peeled off to reveal bright pink skin underneath, others still not fully healed.  

I lean closer to the mirror, running a hand over my jaw, scratching the stubble. I only wish I could shave, and maybe brush my teeth. My lips have almost healed, scabs revealing where they split, still a little tender. I bare my teeth, finding that all of them have stayed in their place, even the loose ones regained their foothold. 

"Here, use this." I look up to find Jack holding out some objects. "Sorry, but shaving will have to wait, we don’t have any shaving cream. In the meantime, you can brush your teeth if you want."  

I look at the objects Jack is holding out. They don't look familiar, a silent question. "It’s a toothbrush and some toothpaste. You use it to clean your teeth." 

He shows me how to use the items he brought. Letting me uncap the tube, squeeze some paste on the brush,  _not too much!_ , practice brushing my teeth. My hands not yet steady enough to be very efficient, but the action makes my mouth feel much cleaner, the taste somehow familiar.

Then he places a glass of water in front of me. "Rinse and spit when you're done." 

Jack leans back against the doorframe, watching, waiting for me to finish. 

Spitting out a mouthful of water, I look up at him in the mirror. "I ever... have mem-memories?" 

Jack looks back, a slight frown. "I don't know. I've never seen anything like this before." 

I frown at his words. "What?" 

He shifts, crossing his arms across his chest. "See, here's the thing, Henry. You should be dead. I'm a spinal surgeon, I've seen a lot of patients with head trauma. Those injuries you suffered to your head were severe enough to kill a person." 

A chill runs down my spine and I grow cold. Horrified, I can't help repeating myself. "W-what?" 

"After the... after the interrogation, we found you on the floor in your room, unresponsive, suffering from a massive seizure. You had all the signs of a subdural haematoma."  

Seeing my confusion, he explains. "Bleeding in your brain. Without emergency treatment it's usually fatal. In the middle of the jungle, well, there was not much I could do to help you. All I could do was to make you comfortable as possible and wait." 

My stomach churns, gripping the sink tightly, afraid that I'll fall if I let go. A few deep breaths, trying to calm down. "H-how... I... live?" 

"I don't know how you survived. I'm amazed you can even talk, let alone walk around." 

I look at my reflection staring back at me, wide-eyed, shocked. My gaze shifts back to Jack. "My... m-memories?" 

A slight shake of his head. "Memory loss is not uncommon in head injuries, but usually people have problems with their short-term memories. I don't know why you lost your entire life, we can only hope you'll regain some of it." 

I can barely hear my own whispered words. "W-will I?" 

Helpless to reassure me, Jack shakes his head again. "I can't say for certain, sometimes people never fully recover. But seeing as you have regained a lot of your mobility and speech, you might start to remember things, in time. Be patient though, don't force yourself." 

A nod, I look down at my hands, still clinging to the cool, solid surface of the sink, trying to keep myself together. 

 


	16. Going for a walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next step in Henry's recovery. It's a walk in the park.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that my updates take a lot longer these days, but it is a busy period for me. So, thank you kindly for your patience, I am still working on this. Although, I have no idea where it ends.

I take a deep breath. I need some time to think, process everything I just heard. Another thought comes up. "When... when I... come here?" 

Jack has to think about it for a minute. "Tomorrow it's been twelve days since they brought you here." 

I stare at Jack in the mirror, speechless, stunned. Almost two weeks? Nobody came looking for me in all this time? If I’m one of them, these ‘Others’, why didn’t they come for me?  

Maybe they think I’m already dead, or... or maybe I’m not an ‘Other’ at all.  

Something in my chest tightens. I hang my head, close my eyes and swallow a few times, grip tightening on the sink, a heavy sigh.  

"I... alone?" 

"Yeah, we haven't seen anyone else since you were brought in." 

 _Alone_. I nod, straighten up, and heave a deep sigh. Looking at the man in the mirror, I can't help but wonder who I am.  

//\oOOo/\\\ 

"Come, I want to show you something." 

Jack's words pull me out of my thoughts, and I look up in time to see him leave. Hurriedly, I scramble to follow his long strides.  

I'm confused when, instead of taking me back to my room, Jack leads me through a different corridor. 

Turning a corner, through two sets of metal doorways, past a set of lockers, up some stairs. He stops in front of a set of large steel doors, waiting for me to catch up.  

He turns to me, his face deadly serious. I swallow, slightly nervous. What's going on? What are we doing here? 

"All right, here's the thing, Henry. Physically, you’re doing great; you’re getting stronger by the day. But mentally, your mind is struggling; it’s trying and failing to remember. You need some help, and I think it might help you if you see something familiar, something from home." He gestures to the door.  

Frowning, I still don't understand what's going on. What does he mean, home? 

"Since you might be one of the people who live here, you might see something that you recognise. That's why I brought you here, to see if this looks familiar to you. We're going to go outside in a minute, but I want you to stay close to me at all times, I don't want to have to run after you, you understand?" 

I stare open-mouthed at him, completely surprised. I get to go outside? 

"You understand me, Henry?" 

Startled, I nod. "Y-Yeah... yes." 

"All right, here we go." Jack gives me a nod and turns the door handle.  

Intensely bright sunlight, blinding me, pain flashes through my skull. I flinch, close my eyes, covering them with my hands, staggering back a few paces. Slowly, my eyes adapt and I squint between my fingers.  

Jack’s standing in the doorway, holding the door open. "Are you coming?" 

I lower my hands, taking a few steps closer to the door, still squinting at the brightness.  

"Here, I almost forgot. I asked around in the camp, and these were the only ones not broken." 

Jack shows me an object. I don't understand what it is until he unfolds it and places it on my nose, hooking it over my ears.  _Sun-glasses._  All of a sudden, the brightness is bearable. The colours are somewhat dimmed, less intense, but I can see much better. A small sigh of relief. 

Jack steps aside, giving me full view of what lies beyond my world. It's... it's  _green_. Everywhere I look, different shades of green.  _Jungle._  

Still slightly squinting at the light, I let Jack guide me through the door, an encouraging hand on my shoulder.  

Outside, I breathe in the thick, humid air. Fragrances of dead, decaying leaves on the forest floor, various flowers in bloom, and very faintly... salt?  

Deep breath after deep breath, inhaling the richly-scented air. Oh, this feels so good! How come I don't remember any of this?  

I slowly turn around in a full circle, stumbling a little on the uneven ground, taking in my new surroundings.  

The jungle around me is vibrant with life. Sunlight filters through the tree-canopy in a dappled pattern of lights and shadows, and everywhere I look there's life; insects crawling and flying around me, little frogs chirping their song in the underbrush. I look up and see colourful birds flying overhead, calling to each other.  

It’s beautiful. Absolutely, stunningly, beautiful. 

And also, utterly unfamiliar. 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

The gentle murmur of running water attracts my attention and I see a faint footpath disappearing into the jungle. A questioning glance at Jack, a confirming nod. 

Walking along the track, stumbling on the uneven ground, the sound growing louder, guiding me to a small stream. Jack is one step behind me, every step of the way. By the time we reach the creek, I'm exhausted. It's been too long since I had so much exercise.  

Jack gives me some space and stays a few paces behind me when I kneel at the stream, resting for a while.  

Fumbling with the small buttons on my shirtsleeves, clumsily turning them up a few times. Cooling my hands in the cold water, drinking my fill.  

Once rested, my curiosity takes over and I explore my new environment. Stumbling around on the rocky, uneven ground, trying to find something, _anything_ , that looks familiar.   

Wandering along the shallow stream, I get caught in a spot of bright, warm sunlight. Despite the intensity of the light, the building headache, I stay put. Closing my eyes, I turn towards the sun, soaking up every bit of light.  

The warmth of the sun on my skin, the faint breeze through my hair, the damp air around me; it makes me want to stand on that spot forever. I feel myself relax more and more, losing all sense of time passing.  

"Everything all right, Henry?" 

Startled, I open my eyes and turn around, giving Jack a wide smile. "Y-yes... th-thank you... Jack." 

"You remember anything? Anything look familiar?" 

A small shake of my head, smile dimming a little. "No... s-sorry." 

"All right, maybe another time. Come, let's get you back." 

I glance around one last time before walking,  _stumbling_ , back to Jack, grateful for his kindness today.  

//\oOOo/\\\ 

Jack follows me as I follow the path back home.  _Home_. The word seems apt; there is nowhere else I can remember to call home. 

A soft rustling sound is the only warning before a figure emerges from the dense underbrush ahead of me. Startled, I stumble to a halt. The figure, _a man_ , does the same. Surprise on his face, recognition, anger.  

"You!" 

Confused, I take a step back. Who is this man, and why is he shouting at me? 

In a split second he lifts a long, tapered object from his back. Broad side firmly pressed against his shoulder, both hands supporting its body, pointed end levelled at me.  

Recognition sends a jolt through me, my eyes grow wide.  _Rifle_ _!_  I flinch, cower a step back. I don't remember, but somehow, I  _know_  its purpose.  

"What are you doing here?" 

The man closes in, he sounds furious. I don't understand. Why is he so angry? Did I do something wrong? 

"Wh-what?" Another step back, heart racing, mouth dry. I hold out my hands, palms facing the man, trying to shield myself, begging him to stop. 

"How did you escape?" 

"I-I... don't..." 

The man slowly steps forward, closing the distance, gun aimed at my chest. His dark brown eyes hard and cold, merciless.  _Hostile._  

A different image overlaps. The same man, same intensity. This time aiming a smaller hand gun. It's dark, night. A loud bang, a flash, a searing hot burning punch in my chest, I can't breathe. 

"That's enough, Sayid!"  

Jack's voice brings me back. Cowering, I take another step back. One hand clawing at my chest, the other stretched out, trying to protect myself. Panting, trembling, barely able to stand. 

"P-Please... I-I d-don't..." 

The man follows my retreat, his eyes shifting for a moment to Jack coming up behind me. He keeps his gun pointed directly at me, unwavering. 

"I said, that's enough." 

For one long moment, the man, Sayid, keeps staring at me, anger simmering under the surface. Then the tension releases, he steps back, rifle slung back over his shoulder. 

I sag with relief and close my eyes. Breathing heavily, desperately trying to calm down. 

Ignoring me for the moment, his attention turns to Jack.  

"Why is he walking around like this? And why is he wearing those? They belonged to her! I don't want that murderer wearing them." 

He is furiously pointing at me; at my face. I gingerly touch the glasses, is that what he wanted? Wait,  _murderer?_  What? 

Before I can ask, Jack takes him aside.

"You haven't been around much since that day in the hatch, Sayid. You haven't seen the results of your actions. He was severely injured, he doesn't remember anything from the past." 

"He's lying!" 

"Maybe, but John and I discussed this with the others in the camp. I told them about Henry, his condition, and they agreed to give him the benefit of the doubt." 

"He is lying, and I'm going to prove it. I've been searching the area, and I have almost found the location. Give me two days, Jack." 

"Sayid..." 

"Two days, Jack. Then we will find out the truth. Then we will decide." Without another word, Sayid brushes past us, his shoulder knocking me off balance.  

One wrong step, tingling in my leg followed by numbness, knees buckling, sending me to the ground with a startled yelp. I try to break my fall, but the impact sends a painful jolt through my shoulder.

Sayid sends a murderous glare in my direction, disappearing into the jungle like a ghost. 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

For a few long moments I just lie there, processing what happened. I close my eyes, take a few deep breaths, trying to calm down my racing heart. I suddenly realise something. 

"H-he... he... h-hurt?" 

"What?" Jack is still staring in the direction Sayid disappeared. 

"H-he... hurt me." 

It's not a question anymore. I just know it, Jack said as much. He helps me to my feet but doesn't answer. His silence is all the confirmation I need. 

Jack takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "Let's get you back." 

With a determined pace, Jack leads us down the path again. I stay close behind him, following as best as I can; scared of every noise, every trembling leaf. 

I can't help thinking about what Sayid said. "A-am I?" 

"Are you what?" 

"A-am I... m-mur-murder?" 

Jack comes to a halt and turns around. He studies me, looking for something, I don’t know what. 

"I don't know, Henry. I have no proof you actually killed anyone. All I know is that you weren’t on the plane with us when it went down." 

I nod, I understand. They believe I’m one of them, 'The Others'. And that I might actually have _murdered_ people. _Their_ people _._ A shiver runs down my spine. What if I did? 

"W-why... help?" 

He frowns. "What?" 

"Why... h-help... me?" I indicate my arm, my face. 

"Because I’m a doctor. I promised to take care of people, heal them. Even if they did bad things." 

He turns around and walks away. 

Scared to be left behind, I stumble after him, following him home. 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

Jack closes the heavy door behind me, shutting out the bright sunlight, locking us in again. I know they won't let me leave, and I'm clearly not well enough to run away, so there's no point in trying to escape. Besides, where would I go? Into the jungle to 'The Others'? Am I one of them? Would they even want me back? I sigh deeply, it's no use thinking about it. 

I take off the sunglasses, handing them to Jack. "Th-thank you." 

He shrugs. "Keep them, you might need them again. Come." 

This time, Jack brings me back to my room. He leaves me with a glass of water and locks my door on his way out. 

I sit down on my cot with a deep sigh. It has been an exciting day. I hope there won't be more of those. 


	17. Emergency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry's not the only one locked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, it's been busy. Here's a birthday present to brighten your day.  
> I'm still working on this, though. Apparently, there's even more to this story than I thought. So, enjoy and thanks for sticking around for so long. Let me know what you think of it so far.

Still shaken up from yesterday's events, I have a hard time concentrating on the words on the page in front of me. I barely slept, and every time I close my eyes, I see the rifle aimed at me. Hate-filled eyes staring at me, blaming me for everything that happened. 

Unseen, the book slips from my trembling hands and drops in my lap. The sudden weight startles me. With a small gasp, I snap out of my thoughts; panting, heart racing. I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants and pick up the book again, desperate to distract myself from my panic. 

For a moment, I can’t see clearly and my heart lurches. A blink; warm moisture travels down my cheeks, leaving a salty taste on my lips. A sob escapes me and I wipe my face with my shirtsleeve, trying to erase every trace of my weakness. 

I force myself to focus on the words on the page again. Breathing deeply, evenly, willing myself to calm down. Gradually, my heart settles in a slower rhythm, panic slowly fading. I almost convince myself that everything is going to be all right, nothing is going to happen, that I’m safe here.

//\oOOo/\\\

Loud crackling noises startle me from my book, panic settling in my chest again. I listen closely; it's static, from a speaker outside my room. I anxiously hurry to the door, my book forgotten on my cot; I need to know what is going on.

"John?"

No reaction. Swallowing down my rising nervousness, I try again, a little louder this time.

"John... y-you there? Wh-what... that sound? John?"

Still no response; the noises continue. Breathing faster now, fear solidly nestled in my chest. I think I can hear a voice, but I can't make out the words.

"John, s-say s-some?"

I clutch my injured arm, more for comfort than support. Panic tries to overwhelm me. What if there's nobody outside? "John?"

Just when I think I’m alone, John shouts back. "Will you be quiet!?"

I close my eyes for a moment, a sigh of relief at the irritated shout; at least someone’s out there. A few more bursts of static noises do nothing to relieve my anxiety.

"John? Wh-what happen?"

"Will you shut up!?"

Startled at John's thoroughly annoyed shout, I do keep quiet. The next burst of static resolves to a clear voice over the speakers.  

_… nine, eight, seven..._

I listen intently; I can't hear anything else beside the static and the countdown. Did John leave me?

_… six, five, four..._

I start to panic, what happens at zero? "Get... get help? Get Jack?"

That antagonizes John even more. "I said, 'Shut up!'"

_...three, two, one..._

Before he can say anything else, an alarm goes off and then all hell breaks loose.

Loud metallic screeching, deep rumbling sounds. The light in my room vanishes, leaving me with a flickering electrical light. Several deep resounding bangs thundering through the building end the screeching, and everything falls silent.

After all that noise, the silence is deafening. For a moment I stand there, trembling. Shocked, scared, confused.

"Wh-what h-happen? John?"

The lights in my room flicker ominously, unnerving me even more. There's no answer, and I grow even more scared. What happened? Where's John, is he all right?

"John? Y-you there? John!?"

"I'm here!"

Relief floods me when I hear his voice, I’m inching closer to the door to hear him better.

"Wh-what was... noises? What... wrong? Did-?"

"Nothing is wrong!"

I highly doubt his words, I only have to look at the flickering lights to know something bad happened. I'm scared; the only comfort I have, may go out any moment, leaving me alone in the dark.

I keep listening but there's only silence coming from the other side of the door. 

John sounded frustrated and busy; despite my anxiety, I keep quiet, afraid to disturb him again when there's nothing I can do.

For a long time, I stand beside the door, listening. In the end I realise that John doesn’t have time to let me know what’s going on; I hope he doesn’t forget me altogether. 

I retreat to my cot, settling in for a long wait, futilely trying to calm down.

//\oOOo/\\\

After what feels like a very long time, my fear still very much alive, John calls out to me.

"We're locked in."

I blink, taken aback. "What?"

"These blast doors came down; the whole living area is sealed off. I can't get out."

My heart skips a beat. Locked in? 

I scramble to the door before I realise I'm locked in anyway. "D-did you... try to- to open?"

"Yeah, but I couldn't... Maybe- maybe if the two of us..."

I’m stunned. Did he just-? "Y-you want... m-me to... to help?"

John's answer is a lot closer to my door. "Yeah."

It takes me a moment, but a sudden terrifying thought comes to mind. "I help you... y-you put- put me back?"

A beat, then, "That's right."

This doesn’t sound appealing; who knows how long they’re going to keep me here. I think about John's words for a moment. Then the lights flicker, startling me. I know what to do.

"I-I help you... I w-want out."

It's quiet for such a long time, I'm starting to think John has walked away and left me. To my immense relief, the lock rattles, the door slides open. The noise resembles the sound of the blast doors, sending a shiver down my spine.

John is standing in the doorway, staring at me, eyebrow raised. "What?"

Deep breath, swallowing my nerves, I straighten up. "I help you... I w-want out... I go f-free."

For a long moment, John is just standing there, scrutinising me, studying me. I try to keep calm, confident. I remind myself that I don't want be stuck in this room any longer.

Finally, he gives me a nod. "All right. From now on, your door stays unlocked when there’s someone around to keep an eye on you. I can't let you go outside, that is something I need to discuss with our people. But you will no longer be confined to your room. You agree?"

It's even more than I hoped for! I'm free at last. Well, less captive, but still.

I give him a nod, trying my best not to show how much it means to me. "How... I help?"

A small smile. "Come, I'll show you."


	18. Get help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry gets to help for a change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry it took me so long to update this fic. I hadn't forgotten this, I just had so much to to irl. That, and the fact the story didn't want to be written. At all. I really had to beat it into submission to get it to stick to the page, so I hope it is readable.  
> Let me know what you think.

I step out of my room into a drastically changed living area. Usually it is a large central room with several large doorways leading to other areas of the building. Right now, those doorways are blocked by huge steel walls. Even the fake window is shuttered down.   

I swallow down my anxiety. It's unsettling to realise I'm still locked in—albeit in a much larger room.  

After the initial shock of finding myself in another cage wears off, curiosity takes over. A glance at John, a nod of approval, and I have permission to roam around.    

Wandering through the large room, I take a closer look at one of the blast doors.

Touching the cold metal, tracing the flawless seams, applying some pressure even though I know the door won't budge.  

A noise behind me startles me. I turn around, nearly tripping over a forgotten toolbox sitting beside the door.  

The noise comes from John, who's kneeling beside another door, disassembling some weightlifting equipment. He has managed to lodge a small metal stick,  _crowbar_ , underneath the heavy blast door, leaving a small gap between it and the floor.  

Confused as to what he is doing, I come closer, carefully picking my way through the heavy, metal, disc-like weights lying around. I wonder what exactly John is planning to do with that long metal pole in his hand.  

He lines up the long pole beside the crowbar and beckons me. "Here, help me lift this crowbar so I can push the longer one underneath. We can then use it as a lever to lift the door."  

I still don't really understand everything he says, but looking closely at his gestures I think I see what he's trying to tell me.  

He crouches down and grasps the crowbar. He points at me and repeats the gesture.   

I crouch down beside John and copy his movements. There's not much room to work, barely enough space for the both of us to grab the protruding end of the crowbar.  

"Ready? One, two, three."  

On three, John and I wrestle with the crowbar, trying to wrap our fingers around the metal for more grip, pulling upwards as hard as we can.  

Muscles straining until they burn, fighting against the internal mechanism of the door, trying our best to lift the entire weight of the heavy door. My shoulder hurts from the effort, but I won't give up.   

Together, we manage to lift the heavy door just enough for John to slide the long pole under the slightly wider gap. With a nod, John lets me know I can lower the door.  

A small grunt of pain escapes my clenched teeth as the release of tension burns in my abused muscles. I close my eyes, breathing through the pain, carefully supporting my arm with my other hand.  

//\oOOo/\\\  

John gives me a few minutes to gather my strength—whatever is left of it.  

Too soon he calls me. "Let's go."  

Once again, I take my position beside John. Again, our fingers fight for grip on a metal pole. 

My shoulder and arm are already burning. Panting from pain and exertion, I grit my teeth and pull harder.  

It takes all our strength to fight the door. The internal mechanism is humming and whining, fighting us every inch.  

"Harder."  

Pushing myself harder, muscles straining, burning. Fire in my shoulder and arm, warmth spreading from my injury. I grit my teeth and keep going, trying not to think about the damage.  

My knees buckle under the weight, nearly losing my footing; a deep breath, before my feet find purchase again.  

The door mechanism struggles to keep the door down, the whining and humming change pitch, not giving in just yet.  

It's too much, I can't hold on much longer.  

"I-I can't...!"  

My foot slips away again, I nearly fall down.  

John sees my struggle and frantically searches for a solution. His eyes land on the large metal toolbox in the corner.  

"The toolbox! Get the toolbox! That'll hold it!"  

I hesitate, the toolbox is out of reach, I can't let John take all the weight alone.  

Sensing my hesitation, he snaps. "Get it!"  

Scrambling to do as he asks, I move as fast as I can.  

My abused shoulder screams in agony as I haul the heavy weight back to John.  

"Come on, come on, put it under!"  

I work as fast as I can, shoving the box under the door without second thought. It fits perfectly.  

Not a moment too soon. Unable to hold on any longer himself, John drops the pole.  

The blast door falls down, crushing the toolbox a little before coming to a halt, the metal groaning under the heavy weight. The toolbox holds—for now.  

The door mechanism hums and whines for a short time before shutting down and everything goes quiet again. John and I heave a deep sigh of relief.   

Now that the task is complete, the pain comes rushing back, nearly overwhelming me. I slump down to my knees, clutching my shoulder. One look confirms my fear; a bright red stain on my shirt, growing as I watch.  

//\oOOo/\\\  

There's not much time to dwell on it. From the corner of my eyes, I see John crouching down, looking through the gap.  

My eyes widen in disbelief; he can't be thinking...  

"Jo-ohn? John!"  

Before I can stop him, John sits down and moves to the door. I try to warn him, but he's already on his back, sliding under the door, feet first.  

"W-wait! Don't...!"  

An ominous groan from the toolbox, an ear-piercing shriek of metal scraping over metal, of metal tearing apart. No time to react, an inhuman howl of agony.  

As fast as I can, I try to pull John from under the door until he begs me to stop. A closer look reveals why; one of the large bolts on the underside of the door gores John's thigh, effectively pinning him down.  

Slowly but surely, the toolbox keeps crumpling, the heavy weight of the door inevitably pressing down, driving the bolt deeper into John's leg.  

My first instinct is to try to keep the door up with my bare hands, but even using all my strength I can feel the door inching further down.  

To my sheer horror, there's nothing I can do to stop it; my mind goes completely blank.  

"Y-you have to stop the door! Put something else under the door!"  

John's voice snaps me out of my paralysis. He's right!   

Frantically searching for anything that can help, my eyes land on the discs John put aside when he dismantled the weightlifting gear.  _The weights!_   

They're perfect. Flat discs of solid metal, strong enough to withstand the immense pressure of the heavy door.  

Ignoring the burning pain in my shoulder, I grab as many discs as I can, piling them as fast as I can under the door; building a new, much stronger, wedge to stop the door from crushing John's legs even further.  

"Come on, come on!"  

A groan of pain from John spurs me on to work even faster, stacking the weights as high as possible.  

"Stack them, stack them, you have to stop the pressure."  

John's voice becomes almost breathless with pain as the door keeps sliding down.  

"Come on, come on, come on!"  

It takes me three trips to gather enough weights to stop the door.  

Finally, the door grinds to a halt, the mechanism quiet for the last time. Only our heavy breathing breaks the silence.  

//\oOOo/\\\  

Exhausted, I lean my head and back against the blast door and slide down to sit on the floor; taking a few moments to catch my breath before John's suppressed groans spur me into action.  

"H-help g-get... you out."  

I'm exhausted and John's much heavier than I, but I try my best to carefully pull him from under the door.  

"No, no, stop, stop, stop!"  

He begs me to stop. At first, I don't understand, but he points at his leg. A closer look shows me that there's blood on it. Of course, I forgot. He's trapped.  

I gently lower John to the ground, careful not to bump his head on the floor. He's still breathing heavily, panting in pain, a grimace on his face. I know what he's going through, it's not good. 

"W-we w-wait... Right? Som-someone... will come?" 

A small shake of his head. "No, we don't have time."  

What? I don't understand. 

Before I can ask what he means by that, John passes out from pain and shock. A look all too familiar to me.  

Now what am I supposed to do? 


	19. Going on a Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry gets to help for a change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like this one, enjoy!

I blink, John’s stillness unnerves me. Even more than I realise. Still kneeling beside John’s unconscious body, I become aware of my rapid pulse and short shallow breaths wile wiping my cold sweaty palms on my pants. My mind is racing; telling me that we’ll die here, that nobody is going to get us out in time. It’s too much, I can’t help myself and reach out to John, a gentle shake of his shoulder, willing him to wake up. 

"John?"  

There’s no response. My heart skips a beat, it’s hard not to panic seeing John lying there. Only his slow regular breathing keeps me from losing control of myself completely. 

I take a few deep breaths and swallow down my fear. John needs my help, I can’t afford to fall apart just yet. What do I do now? I know nothing about first aid, well, nothing I can remember with that sieve of a brain. I’m glad that at least John is still breathing. 

His injury! I think I’m supposed to check the bleeding. I crawl to the door and take a closer look at the wound in John’s leg. My stomach churns at the sight of the steel bolt protruding from his thigh. 

The sight from John’s injury and the pain in my shoulder triggers a memory. An arrowhead protruding from my shoulder, glistening bright red, a nauseating sensation of movement  _inside_  me.  

 _What_ _..._ _?_  

A shiver runs down my spine and I have to swallow a few times, fighting down the nausea that’s threatening to spill. I don’t like this particular memory, and I focus on the grisly scene in front of me, hoping to forget what obviously must’ve happened to me at some point. From what I can see, it doesn’t look like the wound is bleeding too much. I can only hope that’s a good thing.  

What else can I do for John? I can barely remember what they did for me, but I remember being thirsty most of all. 

Glad to have a purpose, I leave John for a moment to search the kitchen for some water. A few clean kitchen towels would make a nice pillow, so I bring those too. 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

While I’m keeping myself busy, fear creeps back in my mind. What if he doesn’t wake up? What if we don’t get help soon?  

Water spills over my trembling hand and I shut down that train of thought. I can’t afford to break down now. 

Fortunately, it doesn’t take long before John starts to stir again, slowly regaining consciousness. His eyes blink open and a grimace crosses his face when he tries to move. I carefully pull him up a little, support him while he takes my offered glass of water. 

The irony isn’t lost on me that now I’m the one who is helping him drink some water. 

"Get... get h-help?" 

At first it doesn’t seem he heard me, but before I can get up for some more water, a strong hand grabs my forearm in a vice-like grip, pulling me down again. 

"No. There’s no time. Everything is locked down, we can’t get out. Nobody can get in." 

I don’t understand. "But..." 

"There's no time. I need you to do something for me." 

I listen quietly as John explains everything. He doesn’t make much sense to me; talking about a... a _computer_ , certain buttons that need to be pushed in a very specific order, and that it has to be done exactly every one hundred and eight minutes. 

I'm stunned. "What does... why?" 

"We're not exactly sure." 

"You... push... b-but-ton?"

"Every 108 minutes, yeah." 

"When sound... When is-?" 

"Very soon. Which is why I need you to go up through the grate and into the vents-" 

My eyes grow wide. "W-what? Me?"  

"Yeah. There's a grate in the pantry, you can get up through there. Take the vent into the dome." 

I can’t do this; does he even know what he’s asking me to do? "M-maybe… wait for-" 

"We can't wait, it's going to go off any minute. I trusted you, Henry. Now you gotta trust me, that button has to be pushed." 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

John sounds desperate but I still hesitate. This is too much, I can’t do this. I look at John, his eyes pleading, his hand squeezing my arm, trying to convey the importance of the situation. 

I realise that if he could, John would be up that vent himself. He’s only asking because I’m his,  _our,_  only chance of getting out of here. I have to at least try. 

Heaving a deep sigh, I close my eyes briefly and nod in acquiescence, swallowing the lump in my throat.  

"W-what... I do?" 

A small smile crosses his face. "Once you're inside, you'll hear the alarm beeping, and you just have to enter the numbers. 4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42, and then you press execute. It has to be exactly those numbers and exactly that order. Do you remember?" 

Overwhelmed by the gravity of the situation, a fierce headache is building behind my eyes. I take a deep breath and force myself to try to remember what John said. 

"F-four, ei-eight... I-I... I don't- I can’t..." 

It’s no use, the more I struggle to take in all the information, the more my brain hurts. I can feel the pressure building in my skull. 

A hand on my shoulder, gently squeeze for comfort. 

"It's okay, Henry, I'll write them down for you. Just bring me a pen and a piece of paper, hurry." 

With a sigh, I release the tension in my shoulders and give him a grateful look before scrambling to my feet.  

I find the things I need in a kitchen drawer and rush back. John writes down a series of scribbles that I believe are numbers. 

"You think you can read this?" 

I give him a nod after one glance at the note. It’s all a bunch of squiggly lines to me, but I can compare them to the numbers on the... the _keyboard_. No need to worry John more than necessary. 

He gives me a small smile and a nod. “All right, go.” 

I get up and stuff the note in my pocket. With one last glance at John, I quickly make my way to the pantry. 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

I glance back at John’s supine form, still pinned under the huge blast door on the other side of the room. He asked me for help. Almost begged me to climb through the vent in front of me. I still don’t really understand why I'm doing this. I shrug to myself, I probably can’t remember the rest by the time I get to the other side of that ventilation shaft. 

I glance up at the grate in the ceiling above me. It looks like the one in my room, only this one isn’t bolted shut. It seems so small, I wonder if I even fit in there, let alone climb through it. 

John shouts something from the other room. "Can you reach it?" 

I swallow a lump in my throat. "I-I th-think so." 

Scanning the room, I try to figure out the best way to get up there. Several racks line the walls, their shelves filled with all sorts of supplies of which I don’t understand the labels. The shelves themselves look sturdy enough for me to climb them to reach the grate. 

I can no longer wait, I have to do this. With a deep sigh, I place my hands and feet on the shelves. Carefully testing every shelf before shifting my weight. Soon I can almost reach the grate above me. 

Another shout from outside. "Be careful!" 

Too focused to answer, I shift my position a little to reach for the vent.  

Reaching to open the grate, overreaching, out of balance, a foot slips, a heart-stopping jerk in my chest, falling. A blinding pain explodes in my head when my skull smashes into a shelf on the way down. One last moment of realisation of what’s about to happen as my body hits the floor, muscles already contracting, trembling, deepening into convulsions as my mind shuts down. 

Just before I lose consciousness, I hear John shouting my name. 

"Henry!" 

 


	20. Saving the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry completes a difficult task, all on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for putting him through all this, I really am. The poor guy can't seem to catch a break.

Slowly, gradually, my mind connects with the world again. Heaving deep, desperate breaths, completely exhausted. A pounding headache emanating from the left side of my skull. I can’t remember what happened, where I am, why I’m lying on the floor, panting like I ran for my life.  

I open my eyes, squinting at the bright light. Everything is blurry and even lying down, I feel dizzy. Closing my eyes again, I focus on keeping my stomach calm. Muffled sounds become clearer. Some sort of alarm beeping at regular intervals and desperate shouts from someone in another room. 

"Henry!" 

"Get up, dammit!" The shouts become even more desperate.

My eyes fly wide open.  _John!_ Memories of what happened, what I'm supposed to do, start to return.  

"Henry!" 

Fear in John’s voice spurs me into action. I carefully prop myself up on an elbow, wincing at the pounding headache that flares up with every move.

"Henry, are you all right?" 

I gingerly glance around, the room still spinning around me. Blinking at blurry shapes dancing in front of me, everything gradually drifting into focus. It all starts to look familiar again. 

"Wh-what... happen?" 

A dull ache in my body and a sharp pain above my temple tell me what happened. Scuffmarks, displaced objects, and even some blood on a shelf explain how. 

"Listen to me, you have to get up into the vents and enter the numbers into the computer!" 

"H-how long... w-was I-?" 

John’s voice climbs in pitch at my confusion. "Please, you have to go right now! We're running out of time!" 

"O-okay..." Hearing the panic in his voice reminds me of the time sensitivity of our situation and I scramble to my feet again.  

At least, that’s what I'm trying to do. My body doesn’t cooperate immediately and I collapse into a heap before I think to use the nearest rack for support. I can only hope it's just a temporary lack of balance.  

A little worse for wear, I finally manage to stagger back to the shelves under the vent.  

//\oOOo/\\\ 

John's "Be careful!" accompanies me while I scale the shelves again. This time I take even more care to place my hands and feet securely.  

Fortunately, my second attempt is more successful. A quick peek inside shows me that the vent is much narrower than I anticipated. There’s no room to turn around, so I have to make sure I’m going in the right direction before attempting to climb inside.  

Until this moment, I hadn’t really considered the extent of my physical limitations; it takes a lot more pain and effort to climb inside that vent than I’m willing to admit. I hope I won't ever have to do this again.

After worming myself in the ventilation shaft, I take a few seconds to catch my breath and let the pain in my body recede. That is, until I really look around and realise where exactly I am. Suddenly, the walls seemingly close in on me and I freeze, unable to breathe. Great, claustrophobia. I really don’t have time for this, the clock is ticking. Closing my eyes, I force myself to breathe. Deeply, steadily, in and out. 

Deep breaths, calm down, relax.

"Henry!" 

John’s distant voice reminds me why I'm here again. Slowly, I gain control over myself, pushing down my fear, working myself forward through the small vent. I don't think a man like John or Jack would be able to fit. 

"Henry, can you hear me?" 

John’s pitiful cries follow me through the vent. I heave a sigh. I’m exhausted, pushing myself over my limits, I can’t spare any breath to answer him. Besides, what would I say? I couldn’t even go back to help him, even if I wanted. No, he asked me to do this, and I am. He’ll have to wait just a little while longer. 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

I don’t know how long it takes me, but finally I come across another grate. Looking at all the computer equipment in the room below me, it seems I'm in the right place. 

A gentle tug and I hold the grate in my hands. I try to gently lower it, but the unwieldy object slips from my fingers and drops to the floor. The loud clattering reminds me of the uncomfortable distance between me and solid ground. 

"Henry!" 

Before I can shout something back, the alarm changes to a faster-paced beeping. The sound is getting on my nerves; I can barely hear myself thinking, let alone answer John. Hopefully, I'm in time to do what needs to be done. 

Clumsily, I position myself to climb down. Feet first, lowering my body as much as I can, hoping against hope that my arms are strong enough to hold me. 

For a moment I just hang there, feet dangling a considerable distance from the floor; hands, arms, and shoulders burning from the strain. I feel my hands slipping, my injured shoulder about to give way.  

I take a deep breath, try to relax, and let go.  

A heart-stopping drop, pain exploding on impact.  

The shock sends agony through my lower back. Blinding pain radiates down my legs before they go completely numb. My legs buckle and I collapse on the floor, sending more stabs of pain through my shoulder and head when I try to catch myself. 

The whole experience is rather breath-takingly painful, leaving me face down on the floor, unable to even whimper.

Riding out the waves of pain, I can finally take a deep breath between clenched teeth, and take good look around. 

I’m here. 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

I crash-landed between the strange computer equipment, in the room with the strange domed ceiling. A clock overhead, counting down. Numbers flipping every second—rapidly nearing zero. I’m running out of time!

With no time to spare, I try to pull myself up onto hands and knees. Fear claws at my insides when I realise my legs don't move. With a panicked gasp, I prop myself up on one elbow, the other hand gingerly touching down my body. Nothing. I pinch my thigh as hard as I can; still nothing. There's absolutely no feeling below my waist! Swallowing down rising bile, I try not to panic.

But what if-?

Terrified of the implications, I shut down that thought. There's nothing I can do, nothing anyone can do. A glance at the clock. And if I don't hurry, nothing anyone can do, ever.

There's no time to worry; the clock is ticking, inevitably counting down. I take a deep breath; I won't give up, not after everything I've been through.

I prop myself on my elbows, and start dragging my useless body towards the table in the middle of the room. I'll figure out what to do next when I get there.

I'm almost too busy to notice at first, but relief overwhelms me when I notice the faint tingling sensation gradually working its way down to my toes. By the time I dragged myself to the table, the tingling is a painful stabbing. 

I pinch my thigh again, and this time it does hurt. I can't keep a relieved smile off of my face, I don't think I've ever been happier to feel pain.

It takes me a few tries before I can get my knees under me, my legs still barely functioning. I pull myself up on the chair and table, carefully scrambling to my feet. 

Heaving deep breaths, I stare at the unfamiliar equipment in front of me. I almost forgot what I'm supposed to be doing here in the first place.

//\oOOo/\\\ 

A box shaped object with a flashing dot in one corner of its glass front.  _Monitor_. A flat rectangular object with rows of small squares and rectangles.  _Keyboard_. A few keys are different, worn out, inscriptions barely legible. I recognise some of the shapes, they look similar to what John wrote down.

Where did I leave John’s note again? I did put it in my pocket, didn’t I? 

I search my clothes; the note must be here somewhere. Worry starts to take over, working its way into my heart.  

Patting my pockets over and over again, I start to panic. I can’t find the note, and I can’t remember a single digit of the sequence! 

My heart grows cold when I remember my fall. The note must’ve fallen out of my pocket during my seizure.

This can’t be happening, what do I do now? 

A glance at the ceiling tells me it’s too high up, another glance at the clock tells me there’s not enough time to climb back and find the paper. 

Fear is clawing at my insides; I failed. 

The thought is enough to root me to my spot. I failed John, and if I understand correctly, I failed everyone else too.   

No, there must be something I can do!  

I swallow down my fear and desperately search the...  _the desk_ , it’s my only chance. Surely someone would’ve left a note, written the sequence down. 

The clock steadily counts down, every click reminding me that time is running out. 

Suddenly, the alarm changes to a continuous wailing. One glance at the clock tells me I’ve run out of time. 

Frantically scanning the room, searching for something, _anything_ , that can help me. 

There! Taped to the monitor. A small piece of paper with a series of numbers on it. 

 _4, 8, 15, 16, 23, 42_  

My hands tremble typing in the numbers. I can barely make out the corresponding numbers on the keyboard, but I can’t afford to make a mistake now, this is my only chance. 

 _Execute!_   

Immediately the clock rattles, the numbers frantically flipping back, showing strange pictures in red and black. Sudden clanking noises and a humming whine climbing in pitch.  

For a long moment, the lights flicker out and back on. 

The clock rattles again, resetting the countdown to 108. Gradually, the noises wind down and silence descends over the room like a blanket. 

Blinking a few times, I can hardly believe it is over. 

Heaving a deep sigh, I finally let myself fall down in a chair, exhausted. 

I did it.  

Everyone is safe.


	21. Good Samaritan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry gets to help even more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your wonderful comments and kudos, it really means a lot to know you like my work. I hope I can keep up the quality. Oh, after this chapter, I'd like your input if you please. Let me know what you like. Enjoy!

Slumped in the chair, trying to catch my breath, I’m lost in thought. It takes me some time to realise that something’s wrong. At first glance everything seems fine, but then I realise that the blast doors are still locked down. My heartrate spikes, I nearly jump out of the chair to stagger to the massive wall of steel.  

Did I do something wrong? What exactly was supposed to happen? 

Anxiously, I touch the cold metal. The door doesn’t give way under my hands—of course not, what did I expect? 

What am I supposed to do now? How do I,  _we_ , get out now? 

I catch myself panicking, and force myself to take some deep breaths. Now is not the time to lose control. I stagger back to the chair and sit down again to think of a plan. I’m glad the silence has taken the edge off of my headache; it makes it a little easier to focus on the task at hand. 

No matter how hard I try, I keep coming to the same conclusion: I don’t know. I have no idea how to get out, no idea what to do next. Defeated, I heave a deep sigh and slump even further into the chair. If only John were here, he’d know how to get us out of here. 

Right, John. I better get back to him. See how he’s doing. 

One glance at the ceiling reminds me again how much it cost me to get here. I heave a deep sigh and close my eyes. I know I have to go back; who knows how long this door will stay locked down. I rub my hands over my face. I’m not even sure I can do it, but I need to try.   

//\oOOo/\\\ 

Of course, there’s no ladder to be found. The desk is too heavy, but it’s easier than I thought to drag one of the cabinets under the open vent. I just have to make sure it won’t topple over when I climb up there. 

My entire body aches from the strain I’ve put myself through in the past few hours, but I clench my teeth and push myself even further. With one last burst of energy, I wrestle myself back inside the vent. I give myself a few minutes to rest before I move. 

Halfway back, all hell breaks loose. 

Noise pounding my skull; screeching, rattling, clanking sounds reverberate through the metal walls around me. The sheer intensity of the assault has me curling in on myself. All I can do is cover my ears, close my eyes, and just wait until it’s over. 

When the tumult finally subsides, I realise the whimpering I hear is coming from me. My skull feels like it’s bursting; another thing I’ve come to resent in my life. I wait another few minutes, but the noise doesn’t come back—nor is my headache leaving.  

//\oOOo/\\\ 

“Henry!" 

John’s shout startles me. Wincing at the stabbing pain, I clench my teeth and brace myself one last time and make my way to the open vent.  

Having finally reached the opening, I make the mistake of looking down. Oh. Trying to swallow the lump in my throat, I wipe my sweaty palms on my shirt. I can’t seem to catch my breath and I hesitate; the floor suddenly seems very far away. I can’t climb down, I just can’t.  

"Henry!" 

John sounds scared, what if he needs my help? His fear rouses me from my own and I convince myself to climb down—very carefully. 

A soft rustling sound under my foot attracts my attention as I step down from the last shelf. John’s scribbled note. A shiver runs down my spine. I could’ve smashed my skull for real this time. Deep breath, best not to think about that too long. 

I step outside the pantry. The scene in the living area is completely different from when I left. Clearly, the awful tumult I heard were the blast doors unlocking and retracting. 

I cross the open space to where I left John. There’s a bloodstain on the floor where he was pinned down, but no sign of either the door or John himself. A trail of blood smears leads to the computer room I just left. 

"Henry!" 

I follow his voice to the other room. I don’t know why John would drag himself all the way down there, his injury looked very painful. 

"Is anybody here? Henry!" 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

I find John inside the computer room, sprawled across the floor, panting from exertion. I don’t understand why he would go through so much trouble to find me. Did he think I’d leave without him?  

"You came back!" I don’t understand why, but the relief on John’s face is oddly gratifying. 

Walking over to where John is propping himself up on his elbow, I kneel beside him. "Y-you th-think... I leave? L-leave... you?" 

Overcome with relief, John mumbles something unintelligible.  

I can’t just let him lie here, the couch is much more comfortable. 

"Come. Y-you walk?" 

"I don't-” a sigh, “I think so." 

With some effort, John pulls himself together and scrambles to his feet. 

I give him my best effort of support; a hand supporting his upper arm, an arm around his waist. It’s not much considering our weight and height difference, not to mention our injuries, but together we manage to get him standing up. 

Leaning against the door frame, he pats my good shoulder and gives me a small smile. "Thank you, Henry. Thank you for not leaving me." 

Exhausted as I am, I give him a smile back. "Y-you w-welcome, Joh-hn." 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

Our journey back to the living area is slow and painful. John is leaning heavily on my injured shoulder, I can barely keep us both upright and in motion. 

After what seems forever, we finally make it to the couch. With a last show of effort, I gently lower him into the soft cushions, mindful of his leg. It wasn’t easy, but I’m proud we managed the situation together. 

"I-I h-help... you o-okay." 

I know that if I sit down, I’ll never be able to get back up, so I keep myself busy to make John comfortable. I put a pillow behind his back, and I lift his injured leg onto a cushion on the table in front of the couch. I try to be careful, but I feel his pain.  

I whisper a heartfelt, "Sorry." Only a small nod tells me he’s heard me. 

When John’s as comfortable as possible, I take the opportunity to take a look at his injury. After carefully tearing away the blood-soaked fabric clinging to the wound, I gently clean the blood away to see what the damage is. It doesn’t bleed too much, but it doesn’t look too good with all the mangled flesh. Jack will know what to do. 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

There’s not much more I can do for John right now, so I carefully get up and stagger to the kitchen on unsteady feet. I could use a drink, and so can John. I know from bitter experience hydration is key in a situation like this. 

"What did you do? What did you do to end it, make the doors go up?" 

A soft huff of laughter escapes me. That’s typical John, always with the questions. Well, I suppose it takes his mind off of the pain. However, it also takes my mind off what I was doing; another thing I can’t do.   

I lean against the counter and focus on an answer. 

"I-I did wh-what you tell me. Push button... only clock turn back. I was- I climb... int-into vent. Lights out... loud... loud noise. I go back... doors go a-away. Noth-nothing I did." 

Slightly out of breath, I grab a glass and fill it under the tap. The running water is cold, droplets sparkling under the light, small bubbles forming, rising up, bursting at the surface. The seeming chaos is oddly calming. 

"You think it was all just random?" 

With a start, I realise I drifted off. Great, more questions. This time, I fill another glass before I think about my answer. At this rate, it would take me an hour to complete this task. 

"I-I don't know." 

I empty my glass, the cool water a welcome relief for my parched throat. Staggering back with the other, I kneel beside John to hand him his drink. 

I nearly spill its contents when all of a sudden, a voice calls out. 

"Get away from him!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's the thing. I wanted to go in one direction, but all of a sudden, a completely different option presented itself. The first one follows canon closely (if you've watched Lost, you know what happens next) and is relatively short-ish (well, not really, but shorter than option 2). The second option takes a detour, resulting in a lot more bad stuff for our protagonist. It's longer and the outcome is uncertain. I kinda, sorta want to write both, but I probably want to stick with one of them. So, if you have a preference, now's your chance to let me know.


	22. Release of tension

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's give the man a little break, shall we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays!!! Here's a little present for you, I hope you enjoy it. Let me know if I missed any tags or something.

Startled at the loud voice, I look up to find Jack, and a woman I've never seen before, barging in. They look angry for some reason. 

"Wh-what... what h-happen?" 

Jack ignores my words; his eyes fixed on me, his words more forceful this time. "Step back right now."  

His anger seems directed at me, but for the life of me, I can't figure out what I've done wrong. I glance from him to the woman and back, unsure of what to do.  

John is quick to defend me. "Jack, it's okay."  

I'm very glad he speaks up, because I just seem to have lost control over my vocal chords. Unfortunately, his words are not much help as Jack completely ignores him. 

"I said get away!" His sharp words are punctuated with forceful gestures.  

I flinch at Jack's harsh words, spilling water all over my hand. I frantically look from him to the woman, but she keeps her distance, looking shocked and angry. I turn to look at John, but he keeps his eyes on Jack. I turn back to find Jack still glaring at me. 

Apparently, he thinks my hesitation is unwillingness to comply and without another word, he crosses the room with long strides.  

Startled by the speed of his approach, I have barely enough time to put down my glass on the table—spilling even more water—before he grabs the front of my shirt with both hands, hauls me up to my feet, and shoves me backwards against the wall—hard. 

I wince at the force of the impact. Air rushes out of my lungs, pain shoots through my head and shoulder. Unable to talk, fighting to just breathe, I struggle to understand what's going on.  

John is just as shocked at the rough treatment. "It's all right, I let him out! It was some kind of lock down, or something. He-he was helping me." 

He’s talking fast, trying to defuse the situation. 

Unimpressed, Jack glances at him, the blood on his leg, and back at me. His lips pressed in a small line, his fists pushing me a little harder against the wall. 

Following Jack’s gaze, understanding suddenly dawns on me. He thinks Ihurt John, that his injury is  _my_ fault! 

"W-wait... y-you don-" 

"Shut up!" 

With swift, decisive moves, Jack pulls me around and pushes me forward. With a few stumbling steps, he shoves me back inside my room. I turn around, but before I can say anything, he shuts the door in my face. The loud bang and the rattling of the lock sounds final. 

I stare at the door for a long time. Will I ever get out of here? For all I know, they'll never let me leave this room again. I hope that John can explain the situation. And that Jack will actually listen. 

On the other side of the door a muffled discussion takes place. John is telling Jack and the woman what happened, interjected by Jack's less than enthusiastic responses. Some suppressed groans tell me that at least John is in good hands with the doctor. 

Defeated, I retreat to my cot. All at once my energy is gone, exhausted from everything that happened today. Moments after my head touches the pillow, I'm asleep. 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

The rattling of the lock drags me back to consciousness. Everything hurts—again. I don't even want to know how many bruises I have this time. I don't bother to get up when Jack enters my room; the pounding in my skull is convincing enough for me to stay down. He puts down a plate and a glass on my table before approaching my cot. 

With a barely suppressed grunt I shift a little and squint up at him to see what he wants. With his familiar bag of medical supplies slung over his shoulder, Jack takes a long moment to study me, scrutinizing every visible bruise, every bloodstain. I can't help a flinch when he drops his bag on the floor beside my cot. 

"Wh-what... you w-want?"  

I don't know if it's my headache, or just Jack's presence that makes my words sharper than I intended.  

He looks away for a moment, his lips pressed in a thin line. Then he takes a deep breath and he faces me. 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have treated you that way. I got angry when I saw John like that, and I assumed that was because of you. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions without knowing what was going on. I apologize for hurting you." 

I study him for a moment, he seems sincere enough. I carefully incline my head a little.  

With a small smile, Jack gives me a nod back and kneels down to unpack his bag. 

I slowly sit up, every muscle burning, my head still throbbing. Clumsily, I unbutton my shirt for Jack to take a look at my shoulder. I try not to stare at the bloodstain while fumbling with the buttons. 

"Don’t worry, I’ll see if we can get you another one." 

To my utter embarrassment, he has to help me peel off my shirt. I've put so much strain on my body that I can barely lift my arms, not to mention the dried blood making the fabric cling to my wounds. 

I flinch once or twice as Jack carefully pries the blood-soaked shirt away from my shoulder. He drops the ruined shirt on the floor and frowns at my injuries. Following his gaze, I have to swallow a lump in my throat. I hadn't realised my fall has left me with such impressive bruising. 

“Why don’t you go and get cleaned up first? I’ll find you some new clothes, take a look at your shoulder again.” 

I give him a slight nod, and unsteadily try to get to my feet. Without hesitation, Jack holds out his hand which I gratefully accept. Will I ever be able to function normally? 

The smell of food has my stomach growling distractingly and I obediently shuffle to the table to eat first, shower later. 

Jack huffs a laugh and grabs his bag on his way out, leaving me to my meal. To my utter surprise, the door stays open. I must've made a sound, because he turns around, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.   

"A promise is a promise, Henry." 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

After devouring everything Jack brought me, I remember that I definitely need a shower. But first, I’m going to find John, see how he’s doing. I hesitantly step out of my room; no shouting, no angry people, nothing. Just Jack in the kitchen making some food.  

Seeing my searching glances, Jack points to the other side of the room. "I put him in his bed, he's going to be fine. You did good, Henry." 

A warm feeling spreads in my chest and I can’t help a smile.  

I follow Jack’s direction and find John in a small open bedroom at the far side of the living area. He's lying on the lower bed of a bunk bed, leg slightly elevated on a pillow, fast asleep on some painkillers. Two long pieces of wood form a makeshift splint along his injured leg. I watch his chest rise and fall in a slow, regular rhythm. He looks well, under the circumstances, I’m glad he’s going to be all right. I don’t want to wake him and leave him to rest.  

I almost walk past the bathroom, but the open door reminds me of my plan to take a shower. I step inside and gather some towels and soap and let the water run to warm up. I stiffly shed the rest of my clothes on the cold tiles—almost losing my balance trying to take off my shoes—and step under the warm spray.  

I heave a deep content sigh as the hot water loosens my tensed muscles. I take my time, enjoying the heat, washing every trace of blood and grime away. Even after I’m done, I let the water cascade down my back, stretching sore muscles, letting the tension drain away.  

Unfortunately, I can’t stay in the shower all day. When the water starts to run cold, I mentally brace myself and resolutely turn off the tap. 

Despite the long hot shower, I’m still a little sore all over. A glance at the mirror shows a lot of bruising along one side of my body. Even the side of my face has a horrible purple blot disappearing in my hairline. I sigh. Just when I started to look rather normal again.  

Studying my face in the mirror again, I look better than ever—aside from all the bruising, that is. Between all the brown, yellow, and purple, my bright blue eyes are curiously staring back at me. I gingerly touch the new gash amid the fresh bruise; it still stings. I touch the other scars, some of which are almost hidden beneath a grizzly scruff. They’re still a little itchy; or maybe it's just the stubble. 

I wrap myself in some towels and search for my clothes. Instead of the bunched-up bundle I left on the floor, I find a neat pile on the sink. Chuckling quietly, I imagine them having a whole stack of similar clothing; brownish slacks, striped button-down shirts, slightly over-sized. Greenish, this time. Where did they get these?  

Dressing quickly, I leave the shirt open for Jack to check on my shoulder; I don’t really like buttoning all those small buttons anyway. I avoid buttoning the sleeves by simply rolling them up; so what, if it’s cheating? 

Jack is in the kitchen, finishing up cleaning the dishes. Part of me is a slightly ashamed of having spent so much time in the shower instead of helping. Another part is still a little resentful at Jack's initial reaction.  

He looks up at my approach, a smile spreading across his face. "You took your time, any hot water left for the rest of us?" 

Before I can react, he becomes serious again and nods at me. "You need me to take a look at your shoulder?" 

I hesitate, rubbing my hand over my chin, it still itches. 

"Y-yeah...this too..." 

He huffs a laugh and gestures to the bathroom. "You’re in luck, we just got some new supplies, including some shaving cream. Just let me get my bag, and I’ll help you." 

//\oOOo/\\\ 

Jack's disinfectant flawlessly finds cuts in places I didn't even know I was hurt. A particularly painful sting on the side of my head makes me briefly wonder what my brain must look like. Finally, he puts some bandages on my shoulder. 

"Your shoulder looks very good, but take it easy the next few days, give it some rest. You understand?" 

I nod, I'm just glad that all the excitement of the past day didn't do much damage. 

Then Jack rummages through some cupboards, and hands me some grooming supplies. I have no idea how to use any of it and I give him a questioning glance. 

"Oh, of course, let me show you." 

Using warm water and a generous amount of a white substance from the can, Jack helps me cover all the scruff on my face. The smooth texture actually feels quite nice.  

Then he shows me a razor, the set of double blades small but wicked sharp. Turning me so that I can see what he's doing in the mirror, he carefully touches the blade to my skin. A little pressure is enough to let the razor do its work. 

Every few strokes he rinses the blade before continuing. It looks so easy, but when he offers me the razor, I hesitate.  

"Go on, try it. It's a safety razor, it won't hurt. Just don't use too much force." 

After another moment's hesitation, I take the blade from him. He doesn't comment on the fact that I use my left hand. It trembles much less than the other one, I hope it's steady enough for what I'm about to do.  

The blade glides haltingly down my cheek, scraping along the skin instead of a smooth gliding path. No matter how hard I try, my hand just isn't steady enough; the result is disappointing to say the least. After a few attempts, I hand the razor back to Jack before I hurt myself. 

"S-sorry, I-I can't..." 

"It's okay, Henry. We'll just keep practicing. Let me finish this for you, all right?" 

After I nod, he expertly runs the razor over my face and throat. In his hands, the blade easily glides in smooth strokes over my skin. He tilts my head this way and that, to better reach the difficult areas, carefully avoiding the small scars. I'm amazed at how much I enjoy the experience, I feel like new; now I really want to learn how to do it myself. 

It doesn't take Jack long to remove all the scruff and helps me wash off the soap residue with warm water afterwards. I bury my face in the offered towel, close my eyes, and relish the feel of the soft fabric on my skin. How could I ever forget sensations like this?  

After Jack is finally done with some cool liquid on my face, I get dressed and take a look in the mirror. I blink. I actually looks rather presentable despite the bruises.  

I look at Jack in the mirror and give him a smile. "Th-thank you, Jack." 

He gives me a small smile back. "You're welcome, Henry."


End file.
